


The Odyssey

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-28
Updated: 2000-03-28
Packaged: 2018-11-11 03:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray K. travels to the Yukon to bring Fraser back to Chicago, but finds it to be a journey into the unexpected.





	The Odyssey

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

A good editor is invaluable in an effort like this and I had the best. Thank you to Jills for her extraordinary patience, judicious editing and most importantly, friendship throughout what was, at times, a torturous process.   
  


Any comments can be directed to Leslie Crismond 

****************************************************************************** 

**The Odyssey**

Despite the frozen quiet and stillness of the land Fraser called home, the sniper caught Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police totally unawares. The Mountie had just gathered up an armload of freshly split logs and was heading toward the cabin when the first bullet scored a bloody path in the upper part of his head above his left temple. The second shot punched into his upper left abdomen, leaving a deep hole under his last rib. A third shot was not needed. The Mountie was down and presumed dead. The sniper nodded with satisfaction as the magnification of the rifle scope confirmed the spread of blood staining the snow under his victim's torso. The fallen man's dark hair and face glistened brightly with the gore from the head shot.   
  


The assassin scooped up the spent casings and paused momentarily to watch the strange scene unfolding below him. The Mountie's dog - or rather wolf hybrid, according to the briefing the killer had received - was pawing and nudging his master's body. The animal circled the bleeding form, stopping several times to push at the unresponsive man with his nose and head. Finally, in what appeared to be acceptance of an immutable fact, the wolf sat back on his haunches, threw back his head and filled the arctic air with his mournful howls. The sniper trudged away with the beast's cries beating against his back.   
  


************************************************************************** 

A very cold, tired and cranky Stanley "Ray" Kowalski (aka Ray Vecchio) was impatiently shifting from foot to foot in front of his bush pilot who was doing his best to ignore the hyper Chicago-based police detective. 'Damn Canadians,' Ray thought for about the hundredth time that day, 'and damn Fraser for holin' up in this frozen hell that no one can get to.' The trip north had already been fraught with peril in Ray's opinion. This would be his third ride in some bucket of bolts that looked and sounded like it was held together with chewing gum and rubber bands. And, he was perfectly aware that the previous pilots had intentionally thrown in a few extra aerial maneuvers guaranteed to make his stomach as sour as his mood. He was also tired of sharing his already cramped seating space with some caribou-breathed goofball's monthly supplies from the civilized world. Ray felt like his head was going to explode from all his frustrations and suffering at the hands of these crazy Canucks, but he mentally bit his tongue and tried again to get a straight answer from the guy he had contracted to fly him within 25 miles of Fraser's place.   
  


Pilot #3 shrugged, smiled politely (oh, yes, everyone was so flippin' polite here you wanted to rip their heads off) and waving vaguely in the direction of the plane, said, "I'll get you there."   
  


"When?? Like today??? Cuz it would be really nice to know, so I can make plans, so I'm not standing around in this hangar getting frostbite waiting for the sun to line up with Mars or whatever you're waiting for. Cuz I've been trying for two days to get this far and then I'm still lookin' at 25 miles of who knows what once we ever get there. Yeah, yeah, not your problem, I know, but who the heck would ever want to be out here anyway? I mean it's not like there's anything to see except snow and ice and more snow. And how the heck am I supposed to get from the airstrip to Fraser's cabin. Like I should just jump from the plane when we fly over...."   
  


He stopped abruptly when he noticed the pilot's sudden interest in his last statement. Okay, Ray knew he was getting worked up and even he could hear the edge of a scream in his words. 'You can lead a Canadian to water, but you can't make him drink,' he thought hysterically. 'Damn, damn, damn.' He would much rather be back in Chicago dealing with criminals and crack heads than trying to crack through the frozen heads of these tundra types.   
  


"So, " Ray tried again more reasonably, "is it possible to leave today?"   
  


**************************************************************************   
  


"You have to get up, Son. You can't lie out here. You have to get up. Please, Son...."   
  


The litany of his father's entreaties finally coalesced into a meaningful pattern, and Benton Fraser struggled to grasp onto the words and use them to climb out of a terrible darkness. Full consciousness came slowly and with great pain. When at last Ben was able to force open his eyes, he found himself squinting into snow just inches from his face. He was dimly aware that his cheek was resting on something rough and hard and that his vision was skewed, but he could make no sense of it. Again, his father's voice floated above him, imploring him to get up. Before Ben could form any kind of response, a wave of devastating hurt swept through his body and he was slammed back into blackness.   
  


The shade of Bob Fraser, also of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and deceased father of the Mountie now sprawled bonelessly in the snow, stared helplessly at the son he could not touch except with his voice. Benton was badly wounded and needed to get to the shelter of the nearby cabin before the Yukon cold stole what remained of his life. Fraser, Sr. tried once more to exhort his son into moving.   
  


Ben's fifth attempt to hang onto his slipping senses finally succeeded. He didn't understand why, but he knew he was in dire trouble and according to his father, he had to get up and save himself. He had to get to shelter, he had to get to the cabin, he had to get up. The simple act of raising his head almost caused another blackout and Ben quickly closed his eyes until the pain subsided to a bearable level.   
  


"That's good, Son. You have to get up. Take it slow, Son."   
  


With his father's words buzzing in his ears, Ben tried to focus on the Herculean task of moving his body. He was seriously injured and somewhere in his memory he heard the sharp barks of the gunfire that felled him. Judging from the intensity of the pain in his middle, he guessed he had taken a gut shot. With shaking fingers he gingerly explored the side of his head, the other burning source of his misery. The relief from finding no holes was immediately tempered by another surge of excruciating pain.   
  


"No, Son, don't give up. You have to get up. You have to help yourself, Son."   
  


*****************************************************************************   
  


Ray was sure he was a lovely shade of green and thought bitterly that it was a good thing he had declined #3's "generous" offer of a moose burger with a side of deep-fried potato lumps. Ray thought he better understood the appeal of jerky since you couldn't even eat the stuff and therefore couldn't toss it up later. Miserably clutching a double thick plastic bag to his chest, Ray entertained himself with various vengeful scenarios starring the object of his odyssey. Fraser would pay big time for all these indignities suffered by his abused partner and friend, Stanley "Ray" Kowalski. In fairness to the Mountie, Ray had to concede that their relationship was a two-way street and Fraser had many times gone out of his way to help the detective. Of course, out of the way was the whole problem with this particular enterprise. As the plane suddenly dropped and then spiked up ominously in an arctic thermal, Ray's thoughts snapped back to the delicious image of Fraser trapped in an elevator with Frannie Vecchio. 'Yes, Fraser would pay.'   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Ben wondered fleetingly if he could just give up and accept the cold embrace of the snow. G-d, it would be easier, so much easier, but that was counter to everything he had been taught and everything he believed about himself. He could never rest in peace if he left this world without a dignified fight. He rested his face, slick with the sweat and tears of his efforts, on his arm and tried to muster yet again his waning strength for the next push forward. The frigid conditions had actually helped him somewhat - he could slide through the packed snow without too much drag and the cold had slowed his bleeding. He couldn't allow himself to think about the crimson trail that marked his passing. He could only focus on the ground ahead and hope that he had enough endurance to reach the relative sanctuary of the cabin.   
  


Bob Fraser looked on grimly as Benton began again to hitch and crawl through the snow. It was terrible to watch. The agony reflected in his son's face and his pain-etched gasps tore at Fraser Sr's very soul. Benton was weakening quickly and it was still a good ten yards to the first porch step.   
  


"You're almost there, Son. That's right, keep pushing. It's just a little bit further."   
  


The hurting threatened to overwhelm him, but since dying was the only other choice, Ben pressed his right hand harder over the stomach wound and pulling with his left arm and pushing with his mostly numbed legs he managed to drag himself forward another couple of yards. After what seemed like decades of unremitting hell, his left hand suddenly banged against the wooden riser of the first step. 'Thank G-d, thank you.' But his joy of accomplishment was short-lived as he looked up at the six steps looming above him. 'I still have a mountain to climb,' he thought with despair.   
  


"You made it, Son. You're there. Grab the railing with your left hand and use your legs to push. That's right, Son, push. Your legs are strong. Yes, get to your knees first. Yes, Son. It's going to be all right. Good, try to stand up. You can do it. Good. Now, step up. Step up, Son. That's good. Just a couple more to go. A couple more, Son."   
  


*****************************************************************************   
  


Except for the fact that his lips would probably freeze to the ground, Ray wanted to kiss good old mother earth and throw himself prostrate onto to her comforting bosom. The plane ride had been nothing short of horrific. The weather had gone south in a big way and #3 had to continually maneuver around little storm cells which took them off their planned route and added several hours to an already long flight. Even though the plane went wide of the problem areas, the upper air was still turbulent and buffeted the light aircraft until Ray thought he could have flown in a washing machine with the same degree of comfort. As he staggered off the plane on rubbery legs, he thought, 'Never again, Fraser. No matter what. No way. I am never again flying in anything less than a 727, a 727 with cocktails, stewardesses, movies, bathrooms, and all the things needed to make the flight pleasant. Now there's a concept.'   
  


Ray stopped his mental diatribe and looked around at the latest stop in his journey. #3 had landed on nothing more than a wide, flat strip of packed snow with two sprawling buildings of questionable stability sitting on one side. The smell of woodsmoke gave Ray hope that someone was actually in residence and that he hadn't just been hijacked to the hind end of nowhere. Well, yes, he was at the edge of the flippin world, but at least he wasn't alone and finally, Fraser was within hollering distance - sort of. Ray had been disappointed that #3 hadn't been able to do the planned fly-over of the cabin, but the weather and their fuel level made it too dicey to risk any additional route deviations and at that point all Ray was praying for was the feel of terra firma under his feet anyway. He looked around again and decided #3, whose name he had discovered was either Horse or Horace or Horst, had to be some kind of a flying genius to even have found this place. It was like trying to find a speck of pepper in a bowl of mashed potatoes.   
  


As Ray peered through the gathering darkness at the building that was to be his "hotel" for the night, his almost giddy sense of well-being at finding himself safe and sound on the ground started to quickly erode. Okay, he never expected the Holiday Inn and his experience on the trip thus far had taught him not to set his sights too high, but come on. The ramshackle affair he was facing looked like some drunken Inuit had put the place together with whatever materials he found at hand (probably parts from plane crashes, Ray thought darkly). Certainly, craftsmanship was an alien concept. Ray was surprised that strong winds like the ones he'd been subjected to all day hadn't blown the place to kingdom come. 'Yeah, like I'm going to get a good night's sleep in there waiting for the roof to fall in on my head. That is if I don't freeze to death first,' he mentally griped, because he was sure he could see gaping holes in the walls. If there was a positive here, it could only be that the cold would have killed any vermin he was likely to encounter. Oh yes, this would be another big entry in Fraser's debt book. The Mountie was going to owe him big time. Ray listened with dismay as a light gust of wind caused the structure to groan and creak. 'I can do this,' he thought gamely and rolled his head in a quick tension-releasing snap. 'Maybe my host has a beautiful, nu-bile daughter.'   
  


***************************************************************************   
  


Ben laid on his narrow cot and tried not to give in to the panic that threatened to bury him. He couldn't remember ever hurting this much, although in truth, this hurt was all that was in his mind at the moment. The waves of pain literally took his breath away and he was afraid that he would not be able to function at even a minimal level for very long. With his father goading and pushing him, Ben had managed to clean and wrap his head wound. The bullet had left a long, deep gouge and while it burned with a head-splitting intensity, it was a relatively minor injury. The wound to his abdomen really scared him though. The cursory cleaning and bandaging he had managed would help stave off infection, but he needed a doctor. He didn't try to fool himself into thinking he could work through this. He was alone and seriously wounded. It would take all his strength just to maintain the fire and keep himself hydrated and fed. He didn't know how he would restock the woodbox when the time came. The thought of trying to negotiate the steps again was too much to consider. G-d help him, the simplest tasks seemed beyond his endurance. "Dad?" Another surge of hurt arced through him and in his exhaustion, Ben let it take him into the darkness.   
  


"I'm with you, Son. You rest now. I'll watch over you."   
  


****************************************************************************   
  


'Yeah, okay, so here I am with a head that feels like it was stepped on by a 300 pound Eskimo, a stomach that somehow got turned inside out, wrapped up like a mummy, hurtling down really big hills in a flimsy sled, that ouch, doesn't have like super cushioned seats or anything, looking at the hind ends of a bunch of dogs. Yep, doesn't get much better than this. But, hey, ouch, at least I'm not about to become another airplane crash statistic.'   
  


H/H/H had taken off at the first hint of daylight, leaving Ray in the questionable care of his previous night's host, Malcolm Dermet, who did not have a beautiful daughter or any other female in residence with the exception of maybe a sled dog or two. Dermet had been gracious enough, but he was a true back-to-nature kind of guy who lived, quite happily it seemed, with only the barest essentials. Ray didn't honestly think anyone was more monk-like than Fraser, but the Mountie lived positively lavishly compared to good, ole Mal. 'At least, the guy had a pot to piss in,' Ray thought grumpily.   
  


Dinner had been a bowl of best-left-unidentified gamey stew with some brick like biscuits on the side. The stew was okay, well, hot at least, but the bread defied Ray's best attempts to choke it down. In fact, he thought he may have lost a filling in the effort. H3 chatted throughout the meal which was good because Dermet was one of those strong, silent types whose normal conversational repertoire consisted of an occasional grunt and a few expressive monosyllables. He did loosen up later after he broke out a bottle of his home-brewed Yukon Lightening and even allowed as how he had seen Fraser about two weeks ago and that he was a good neighbor. Considering Fraser had been at the cabin just once in the past year and a half, Ray wondered on what Dermet based his assessment. The booze had hit Ray like a freight train and he was sure the high content of what had to be battery acid had perforated his already abused stomach. After several trips to what was literally a pot, Ray curled up on a tattered bearskin close to the fire that Dermet had pointed to as being the guest bed and pulled some equally hairy "blanket" over himself and went down for the count. His last conscious thought was the image of Fraser trapped in an elevator with both Frannie Vecchio and Meg Thatcher, the Ice Queen.   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Bob Fraser watched the first of the new day's light inch across the cabin floor. It had been a long, arduous night for the deceased Mountie. Benton's suffering still had the power to wound his father's heart. The young man had been unconscious for a full ten hours, but had thrashed fitfully and cried out when the pain penetrated even that deep haven. Bob wanted so badly to help his son, but being dead precluded such actions. He stood by the window and watched as the snow absorbed more and more of the rising sun's glow. 'It is a beautiful land.'   
  


A change in Benton's breathing and a questioning whine from Diefenbaker alerted the old Mountie that his son might soon be waking up. Fraser, Sr moved to the bedside and watched as Benton struggled to open his eyes.   
  


"I'm here, Son. You're safe. Everything will be all right."   
  


Ben was trying desperately to move past the blazing pain that was trying to engulf him. It seemed every breath he drew stoked those flames of hurt that threatened to consume him. He could hear his father's voice and tried to focus on the offered comfort. He had to be strong, he had to be better than this. In the end, it was Diefenbaker's wet nose that jolted him into consciousness.   
  


'Dief! Have to . feed Dief! And the rest of the dogs. Dear G-d .how? ' But even as the question banged across his mind, he understood that somehow he would have to manage it. Those animals were his responsibility, his duty and he would have to see that they were cared for. He tried to think back to when he had last fed them, but his thoughts were so foggy....   
  


"Son?"   
  


A gasp. "Dad?"   
  


"I'm right here, Son. It's all right, I'm here."   
  


"The dogs....I have.....to feed.... the dogs." The pain made Ben's words slow and small.   
  


"Yes, Son, you will; you have an obligation, but they'll be all right for a while. You fed them just before you were shot and that wolf of yours already helped himself to some things in the cupboard. You know I don't like to be critical, Son, but I'm afraid that animal has fallen into some very poor habits and has obviously been spoiled by that easy city life. I suppose there is some hope since it appears he still has an instinct for self-sufficiency."   
  


Ben tried to smile as Diefenbaker whined in protest. "How bad.....how badly....am I hurt?"   
  


Bob Fraser took a subtle step back so that Benton couldn't see his face clearly. "Make no mistake, Son, it's a serious wound, but you're young and strong and no Mountie I ever knew succumbed to a little hole in the gut. Do you remember Darwin LeFevre, partnered with Jake Bennett out of Tungsten? Guess it was back in 1959 or maybe '58....."   
  


Ben let his father's words wash over him and wrapped his thoughts around the comfort those words were intended to impart. 'I will get through this. I will...survive.'   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Ray stretched his arms high over his head, but suddenly yelped as the muscle in the left cheek of his butt contracted fiercely and painfully. This sledding stuff was killing his, what do you call them, glutton maximi. It wasn't doing wonders for his Canada-sized headache or upset stomach either. As he tried to work out this latest bodily ill, he stared gloomily down into the piney hollow where Malcolm had disappeared a few minutes earlier towing some hideous looking metal contraption. Ray really didn't want to think about the meaning of it and contented himself with the thought that he was getting ever closer to the end of his quest.   
  


How much closer Ray wasn't exactly sure. Malcolm had shrugged off the detective's barrage of questions and grudgingly shared that he would drop Ray off sometime mid-afternoon "just a ways away" from Fraser's place. Ray had learned enough Canada-ese on this trip to know that "just a ways away" could be anywhere from 10 miles to 3 miles. It didn't bode well, but .   
  


"Geesh, Malcolm, you could give a guy a heart attack or something. I mean, I thought you were a bear or something. Yikes, what the heck is that?"   
  


Somehow, two hundred plus pounds of Malcolm had come up quietly behind Ray. That was startling enough, but what concerned Ray more was the sizeable animal slung over his shoulder.   
  


"It's dead."   
  


"Yeah, I know that. I can see that. I mean I'm a Chicago police detective, I know dead. I see a lot of dead, but what are you doing with a dead " Ray peered more closely, "a dead whatsis?"   
  


"Trapped it. Meat." Mal, the king of gab, grunted. He then knelt down to secure the body to the sled.   
  


'Oh, great. Great, great, great. Now I get to share my luxurious traveling space with some stinking dead animal. Oh boy. Fraser, old buddy, old friend, you and me are going to have a talk about this living in north nowheres thing.'   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Ben was already trembling with exhaustion, the pain in his middle had him bending almost in half, but he was determined to take care of the dogs Malcolm had entrusted to him. Somehow, he would get to their shed. Somehow, he would feed and water them. Somehow he would do this. He leaned heavily against the wall next to the door and tried once more to summon the necessary strength.   
  


"Son, you need to rest. You'll be stronger tomorrow. You need to take care of yourself right now. The dogs will be fine for a little bit longer."   
  


It was so tempting to give in and stagger back to the cot, but he had an obligation, a duty. Shaking his aching head slightly, Ben took a shaky step towards the door and fumbled for the knob.   
  


"Stubborn is what you are, just like your mother. Never could tell her anything, even if was for her own good. The woman had do things her own way. You're just like her, Son."   
  


Ben tried. He tried so hard, but the effort was simply too much for his overtaxed body. As he moved through the opened door, the combination of the cold air, sunlight and another sickening jolt of pain caused him to falter. He managed one more half step before the world went tilt and he crashed to the boards. His agonized cry pierced the afternoon stillness and his father's heart.   
  


"Oh, Son."   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


'All right. This is it. I am actually looking at Fraser's cabin. This is good.' Ray turned and gave Malcolm a thumbs up. The musher had stopped the sled on the top of this ridge, tapped Ray on the shoulder and pointed to a distant speck on the western horizon.   
  


"There," he said. "Fraser's," he elaborated.   
  


Ray squinted and sure enough he could see a building wavering mirage-like in the far distance.   
  


"So I guess this is where we part company, huh? So, how far is that exactly? Wouldn't you like to visit your good neighbor? I mean the dogs could probably use a break and you could hang out with Fraser for the night."   
  


Malcolm shook his head and uttered a firm, "Nope. Gotta push on."   
  


"Oh, well, thanks for the ride and all. It's been, ummm ..different. Ah, . good different, you know, it's been good. Thanks." Ray lurched up from his cramped seating and started cautiously unkinking his various muscle groups.   
  


As Malcolm unlashed Ray's gear and a pair of well-used snowshoes, the detective tried again to pin down the exact distance he would be hoofing it to Fraser's. "So, how far is that do you think? I mean, I can see it, but with all this snow, this...this whiteness, it's kind of hard for a city boy like me to figger out the mileage. I mean, are we talking maybe 2 mil...er, kilometers, or is it closer to ten? I mean, I walk good, that's not my concern. I was just kind of wonderin how far in maybe terms of hours it's gonna take me." Ray tried to keep a friendly tone in his voice.   
  


Mal gazed off towards the western horizon and then looked skyward as if calculating. "It's a ways. Take a while." he finally concluded and finished rearranging the load on his sled.   
  


Ray considered picking up a snowshoe and whacking ole Mal a good one right across his square, blocky trapper/musher head. 'Yeah, okay, fine. Doesn't matter. A little fresh air, a little exercise...no more bumping around in a sled. Should be a cake walk. Pitter, patter, let's get at 'er. Daylight's burning.'   
  


Before stepping back up on the back of the sled, Malcolm turned and pointed to the snowshoes. A slight cock of his head indicated a question.   
  


"Yeah, I'm all over the shoeing thing. I am good to go. Thanks again for the lift. Uh... happy trails." Ray flashed a brave grin and gave a confident wave.   
  


With a guttural command to the dogs and a brief nod, Mal and his team flashed over the other side of the ridge and left the 'city boy' staring out across a seemingly endless expanse of snow. 'No big deal. I can do this. Just a little walk.' Ray looked more closely at the snowshoes. 'Uhhh, how the heck do you put the things on? How the heck do you walk in them? Fraser, you and me, buddy....'   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


"I'm here, Son. I'm right here with you. You must get back into the cabin now. You need to get back to bed."   
  


Ben gasped. He felt like he was being smothered by pain. He vaguely remembered falling and felt a hot stab of fear as he touched his fingers to the bandage wrapped around his middle. The warm wetness under his fingertips was blood, fresh blood. 'Oh, G-d....'.   
  


"Benton, you have to move. You must get back into the cabin. For heaven's sake, Son, you need to take care of yourself."   
  


Bob Fraser verbally pushed and badgered and prodded and cajoled his son into moving.   
  


"That's right, use those legs. There's nothing wrong with your legs. You can do it, Son. A Mountie doesn't quit. That's right, get to your knees, Son."   
  


Tears of pain, effort, fear and frustration lay slick on Ben's face. He tried to focus on the bed. He was almost there. Why.... was he.... on the floor.....again? The pain wrest his thoughts away and atavistic instinct alone compelled him forward.   
  


"Good, Son. Pull yourself up. That's right. Careful. Good, Son."   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Ray stopped briefly and wiped the sweat away from his eyes. It seemed like he had been walking - well, okay, stumbling along - for hours, but the image of Fraser's cabin still sat more ghost-like than solid in front of him. The snowshoes had been a trial from the get-go. 'Yet, another way the Canadians torture their US neighbors,' he thought irritably. It was a good thing that Malcolm had been long gone when Ray took his first tentative steps with the webbed wonders attached to his feet. He apparently had not secured the left one tightly enough and when he caught part of it with the right one, he did a big old face plant. The second time he fell, he flipped and rolled down the rest of the ridge slope. He finally managed to find a technique that mostly worked for him, but he knew that he would discover muscles he didn't know he had and they would not be happy.   
  


A quick glance at the sun spurred him back into action. He definitely wanted to be tucked into the cabin before it started getting dark. Besides which, he couldn't wait to see the look of surprise on Fraser's face. In truth, Ray was eager to see his friend again. The Mountie had become an important part of Ray's life and quite simply, he missed the camaraderie. Now that the trek was nearing its end, Ray remembered all the good reasons he was tromping through this snow-blasted wasteland.   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Two weeks ago, Fraser had been sent packing, ostensibly to take a well-earned vacation from the urban grind. Everyone who knew him could see that he was homesick so when Dante Speca, Ray's mob-connected snitch, had revealed that a contract had just been put out on a certain Constable, plans were hastily made to send Fraser back north. Ray's boss, Lt. Welsh, and Fraser's commanding officer, Meg Thatcher, both agreed that the Mountie would not be told the real reason for his enforced leave of absence. Ray understood, as did Welsh and Thatcher, that if Fraser knew he was a target, he would insist on staying and facing down his enemy. His friends could not bear the thought of endangering him for the sake of some misplaced honor.   
  


A most formidable Meg Thatcher had insisted Fraser use a portion of his vast store of accumulated personal time "to keep Ottawa from questioning operational procedures in the Chicago Consulate" and hence, her command. Furthermore, she "couldn't help but notice a certain air of distraction attributable, no doubt, to an innate need for wide, open spaces."   
  


Fraser had started to protest, but reluctantly agreed that he was thinking a lot about his cabin and was feeling restless, so the plans were finalized. The Mountie would be north for at least a month, after which time he would check in with Inspector Thatcher personally before returning. She intimated that there might be an additional assignment in his area requiring "local expertise."   
  


To stay in character, Ray had given Fraser a hard time about his sudden trip to the "land of the human popsicles" and tried to interest him in a jaunt to some hot, sunny clime. Ray had decided that he, too, needed a break, and thought maybe some NASCAR racing down in Florida would be a fine thing to do. Fraser had listened stoically while Ray waxed poetic about the whine of tires, the growl of big engines and the heady aroma of motor oil, gasoline and stale beer. So fourteen days ago, the friends had said their good-byes, seemingly headed for opposite ends of North America.   
  


In fact, Ray, and several other detectives who had been sworn to secrecy, had been working feverishly to figure out the who, what, where and when of the contractor and the hit. The who was traced back to one Wilson Warfield, an ex mob boss with a big ax to grind. Five months previously, Fraser and Warfield had clashed openly and hotly over a small incident that had large ramifications for the mobster. Fraser, with the backing of the Chicago PD, had won out and as a consequence, Warfield was seen as a weak sister by his fellow mafia leaders. Like the sharks they were, they quickly moved in and tore Warfield's empire to shreds, leaving him broken, bitter and vengeful.   
  


Repeated confrontations with Warfield had proven fruitless. He denied any knowledge of the contract and just smiled smugly as Ray and the others tried to brace him for details. Then 10 days ago, a patrolman had discovered a body in a seedy alley off Hoover. Wilson Warfield was dead, executed in a style favored by the organization he had controlled for so many years.   
  


Dante had resurfaced two days later with the news that Warfield had been judged a loose cannon by the current bosses who saw the hit on Fraser as a bad move. The organization was in the throes of restructuring and no one at the top wanted the heat and scrutiny a cop killing would bring. According to Dante, the word was out that the contract was canceled and with Warfield dead, no one would pay anyway. Fraser was safe and a very relieved Stanley "Ray" Kowalski was dispatched to bring the Mountie back to Chicago.   
  
  
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Ray was actually feeling rather buoyant. 'Hey, Ma, did you ever think your baby boy would be walking through the arctic on a pair on snowshoes? After riding in a dog sled. Pretty cool, huh? Definitely a good story for one of those hated How I Spent My Summer Vacation school papers.' "Yep, I've come a long way, Baby," Ray snickered.   
  


He had been out of sight of the cabin for the last hour or so, but with a few more steps he would be on top of this rise and could get re-oriented. As he crested the hill, his eyes widened in happy surprise. He was almost there! There was maybe another half mile to go, but he was all over that. Even the fact that the sun was starting to go down was not a problem now. Ray let out a gleeful whoop, promptly mistepped and found himself face down in the snow. 'What the......' Ray lay stunned for a minute and then started to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 'Yeah, I'm a regular Daniel Boone out here in the wilderness. Just call me Yukon Ray, the snowshoein', dog sleddin' defective, uh, detective.' He finally got himself composed and started the arduous task of getting himself upright again. He was still thrashing around trying to work his left foot back underneath himself when something big and furry slammed into him. "Shhhiittt! Helppppp!" Adrenalin pumping furiously, Ray blindly grappled with the animal. Just as his mind was forming the idea that he might die, a soft dog tongue snaked across Ray's right cheek.   
  


"Whaa...? Dief? Dief!" The wolf whined happily and tried again to lick Ray's face. Relief overwhelmed the fallen detective. "Yeah, it's me. Ray. Come a visiting. Back off, Dief, let me get up. Uh, I have to get up which I have to tell you isn't easy with these stupid things strapped on my feet. Give me a minute here. Yeah, I'm getting it. As soon as I'm up, we'll go surprise Fraser. What'dya think? Think Fraser will be surprised?" Ray stopped. "Oh, geez, I'm talking to a dog."   
  


Ray pulled up beside a corner of the front porch and quietly struggled to remove the hateful snowshoes. He had practically run the last half mile and needed a few minutes to collect himself before casually walking in on the unsuspecting Fraser. Ray suppressed a little chortle of anticipation and shrugging out of his pack, strolled toward the front of the cabin and up the steps. His focus was entirely on the partially opened door so he missed the bloodstains blotting the porch boards and door sill. Ray couldn't suppress a big, silly grin and with what he hoped was a nonchalant tone, pushed his way through the door and announced, "Hi, Honey, I'm home!"   
  


The silence that greeted him was confusing. The inside of the cabin was heavily shadowed and for a moment, Ray thought Fraser must be outside somewhere. But no, he could see the Mountie lying on the cot in the back of the room. 'Well, what the....Fraser is in bed at this hour? He's asleep?! I come all this way, through all sorts of personal peril to my person and the guy's asleep?! Yeah, I'll give you there's not much to do up here, but still...'   
  


Ray easily tamped down his irritation. 'Oh, well, he'll think he's dreaming when he sees me. That's cool.' Moving towards the bed and the sleeping Mountie, Ray pitched his voice slightly higher and tried again, "Rise and shine. Pitter, patter, let's get at .... 'er...." Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Fraser was sprawled on his back and something about the way he was lying looked odd.   
  


The light was poor in this end of the room, but even so Ray could now make out the bloody gauze around Fraser's head and oh, NO, the dark stain across his stomach. "Fraser!! Oh, my G-d!" Ray placed his trembling fingertips against the Mountie's neck, but the detective was shaking so badly he wasn't sure if there was a pulse or not. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he did register the fact that Fraser was warm to the touch, too warm. Suddenly, the Mountie stirred and softly moaned.   
  


Ray grabbed his friend's hand. "I'm here, Fraser. It's Ray. I'm here with you. It's okay, I'm here with you. It's Ray."   
  


Ray's eyes had adjusted to the dim light and he could now see how terrible Fraser looked. His face was drawn and ghostly pale, dried blood clung to the left side of his face close to his ear and there was a small puncture mark and bruising high on his right cheek. Although his face glistened with sweat, his lips were dry and cracked and the pronounced dark hollows under his eyes made the Mountie look like a horror movie zombie. Ray forced himself to look more closely at the blood-soaked bandage encircling his friend's mid-section. The location was ominous. A gut shot. The most painful kind of wound. A most likely to kill you slowly, but surely, kind of wound. Ray forced himself to touch the stained wrapping. It was still tacky, the bleeding had been recent. What on earth was he going to do? Fraser needed help and they were in the middle of freakin' nowhere. Ray felt a huge lump rise in his throat as it dawned on him that Fraser must have done his own bandaging. Somehow the Mountie had found the strength to help himself. Ray would, too. He would be as strong as was needed. He wouldn't let his friend down.   
  


Bob Fraser stood off to the side of the cot and watched Ray check over his son. Benton was in bad shape, but the Chicago policeman would help him. "It will be all right, Son. You have help now. The Yank is here. He and I will take care of you."   
  


Ray looked around the cabin. He needed more light and water and the room had a definite chill to it. He would have to start a fire before the room became too much colder. Fraser didn't appear to be close to regaining consciousness so Ray quickly darted out the door to collect his gear and some logs for the stove. This time Ray noticed the blood turning rusty brown on the porch floor, steps and snow. He saw for the first time the scatter of stained logs out in the yard, all ugly evidence of the crime that had happened here. As Ray gathered up an armful of wood, he fought to control the panic that suddenly gripped him. Fraser needed him, depended on him, could die without him. The responsibility of being the Mountie's savior was overwhelming.   
  


Natural light was fast fading so Ray turned his attention to lighting the two kerosene lamps he found in the cabin. The fire proved to be more of a challenge and he had to concede that he was not gifted in the art of fire building. It took a while, but the stove was starting to generate some much needed heat. Ray found a clean glass and a small basin and filled both with water. Behind him, Fraser made a soft, hurting sound.   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Ben was being pursued by the largest wolverine he had ever seen. He had been running hard to get away, but the animal had easily kept pace. As exhausted as he was, Ben knew he had to stay on his feet. If he fell, the animal would be all over him, snapping its sharp, pointed teeth and tearing at his soft flesh with its razor claws. He was so distracted trying to gauge the carnivore's distance behind him that he missed seeing the tree root that snagged his foot and brought him crashing to the hard ground. The pain was instantaneous. The fall knocked the wind out of him and he had landed solidly on a broken piece of rock that stabbed up into him. He struggled to breath and regain his feet, but before he could move, the wolverine pounced on him, burrowing underneath him to rip viciously into his underbelly. Ben tried to scream. He tried to cry out for help, but the agony stole his voice and smashed his words into small broken sounds. He couldn't get hold of the animal either. It was everywhere, gouging jagged holes in Ben's skin, making him bleed. He could feel his blood spurting and falling like rain. "Aaagggggghhhh."   
  


******************************************************************************   
  


"Fraser, it's okay. I'm sorry. It's okay. You're safe now. I didn't mean to..... It's Ray. I'm here, buddy. I'm right here with you. You're safe."   
  


'Please be okay,' Ray prayed silently. 'Please be all right again.' He tossed aside the washcloth he had been using to clean away the dried blood and carefully laid his hand on the side of Fraser's face.   
  


"I'm here, buddy. I'm with you. I'll take care of you." Ray continuously whispered his reassurances while using his thumb to gently stroke Fraser's cheek.   
  


Bob Fraser stood over Ray's shoulder and nodded approvingly. The Yank was a good man. He really cared for Benton and would help him get well.   
  


"It's going to be all right, Son. Your friend is here. Your friend and I will ......." He bent closer as he saw Benton's eyes flutter weakly. His son was waking up.   
  


An intense spasm of fiery pain made Ben gasp and he tried to curl into himself to protect his wounded middle. "Oh, oh,.........oh,... G-d." He blinked up at the man leaning over him. He tried to focus.   
  


"It's okay. It's Ray, Fraser. Ray. I'm here. It's okay."   
  


'Ray?' Ben's mind wrestled with the idea. 'Ray?'   
  


The detective retrieved the washcloth and blotted the sweat from Fraser's forehead and cheeks. "Are you thirsty? I think you need to drink some water. I think water will help."   
  


"Ra...aaa..."   
  


"Yeah, Fraser, it's me, Ray. I'm here. I am definitely here." He grinned widely.   
  


Ben tried an answering smile, but another spike of pain left his mouth twisted into a grimace.   
  


"It's okay, Fraser. Just relax. Don't try to talk. Kind of surprised, huh? Yeah, me too. A couple of times, well..... Here, let me get you get some water. You're probably pretty dry." Ray slipped his hand under his friend's head and supported it while Ben sipped the cold water.   
  


"Yeah, that should help. No, no, it's okay, I've got a washcloth right here. Hang on, just a sec."   
  


Ray dabbed Fraser's chin and eased his head back onto the pillow. Ben closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again, he seemed more alert.   
  


"Ray."   
  


"Yeah, Fraser, it's really me. In the flesh," Ray flashed another smile. "I'm here to help you, buddy. It's going to be okay," he concluded with a lot more confidence than he felt.   
  


In fact, he wasn't at all sure it was going to be all right. Fraser was lying there with a potentially fatal bullet in his gut and needed expert medical help, not some fumbling friend renowned for his weak stomach. Ray could feel despair starting to take hold so he quickly resumed his upbeat chatter.   
  


"Hey, you'll be proud of me, I got a fire going so it should be real toasty in here soon. I have to say the place isn't as....umm rusty, er, rustic as I thought it would be. Pretty nice really. Do you want some more water or somethin'?" He took a nervous breath and looked expectantly at Fraser.   
  


"....No. I'm.....fine. Well, not.....really." Ben licked his dry lips and struggled to get the words out. "I'...ve ...been...." his sudden gasp buried the rest.   
  


"Easy, Fraser. Easy. Yeah, shot. You've been shot. I know that, buddy. I'm going to help you. We'll get you through this. In fact.... I probably ought to take a look at what you got hidin' under those bandages. Looks like we need to clean you up a bit. It's okay. I'm good with this." Ray was lying his butt off. There was no way he wanted to know what the bloody wraps were covering. He wasn't good with this kind of thing at all, but he couldn't expect Fraser to do it. Ray would just have to suck it up and take charge. "So, what'dya you think? Think you can handle Dr. Ray changing those bandages?" He forced a cocky grin onto his face. "I'm just going to get a fresh towel and some more water. I'll be right back. It's going to be all right, you'll see."   
  


Bob Fraser moved into his son's line of vision. "Your friend is going to help you, Son. You have to be tough. Did I ever tell you about Mad Dog Douglas back in '71 or maybe it was '69, anyway Mad Dog took a bullet in his hip...old fool wasn't watching his prisoner like he should have and....."   
  


"Okay, show and tell time, my friend. I'm sure you've got some herbal bear fat miracle cure-all hidden somewhere, but all I could find was some alcohol and I had some good old neospoiling goop in my pack so we are good to go." Ray watched Fraser pull his focus back from some far away place. Ray was very nervous. He knew that Fraser knew that this was not Ray's kind of thing, but he was determined to be as strong as the Mountie. The detective gave his head a tension-relieving snap and picked up the sharp knife he had found. "I'm just going to cut off this head deal and take a look. Okay? Hang on. Gauze is tougher than it looks. Almost got it."   
  


Ray felt his stomach twist. The bullet had carved a deep path along the side of Fraser's head and it was crusty with blood and torn flesh and hair. 'Yuck, damn.' Ray really hated this.   
  


"So, okay, now....I've got to clean this out a bit. I'm going to be real gentle, but it may still hurt a little. And no screaming, cuz it throws off Dr. Ray's concentration. You okay with that?" Ray smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. The simple faith he saw reflected in Fraser's eyes almost caused "Dr. Ray" to lose it entirely.   
  


To Ray's way of thinking it had not gone well, he'd felt clumsy and rough, but except for a few involuntary gasps and quiet groans, Fraser had borne it stoically. The small puncture on his cheek, probably incurred when he fell on the logs he had been carrying, Ray guessed, had cleaned up nicely and Ray had been generous with the goop. It was time to deal with the stomach wound and this was something the detective really didn't want to touch.   
  


Fraser's eyes caught Ray's. "Fraser, I can't lie to you. This is not going to be good. You know I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to do this to you, but I got to get this cleaned up. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm going to do the best I can not to make it any worse." Ray shook his head helplessly.   
  


"I....know....Tha.....nks." Fraser managed. He wanted to assure Ray that he understood, that he appreciated Ray's efforts, but talking required energy Ben didn't have.   
  


"Okay, we're going to do this. Hang in there. In and out. Quick like a bunny. It'll be okay." Ray took a deep breath and slid the knife under the bandages as far away from what he thought was the shot site as he could. 'Damn, I shouldn't have built such a big fire,' Ray thought as he wiped a forearm across his sweaty forehead and eyes. He blinked the remaining moisture away and refocused on carefully cutting the soggy gauze. As delicate as he tried to be, the knife snagged on some threads and caused Ray to jerk the wrapping rather strongly. Fraser couldn't contain the cry that broke from his throat nor control his body's move to arch away from the source of the pain.   
  


"Fraser, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. It's O...I'm almost done here. Please try to relax. We're almost there."   
  


After Ben quieted again, Ray slowly peeled back the bandage, careful not to pull too hard where the blood caused it to stick. After what seemed like hours later, the site was exposed and even with the blood and gore, Ray was relieved. He let out a shaky breath. He had expected to find a gut-oozing, gaping hole in the middle of his friend's abdomen, some sort of grotesque jack-in-the- box kind of thing where only the bandages kept the Mountie's innards from popping out. The wound, while dark and ugly, was relatively small and was located high and more to the left than Ray had thought. He wasn't crackerjack with anatomy, but he didn't think there were as many things to damage in that area. The smile he directed at his patient was genuinely happy.   
  


"I think we're gonna be okay here. It's not great and I know it hurts like hell, but I think you're gonna be fine. I have to clean it up. That won't be so great, but we're going to get you through this. You're gonna be okay, buddy. You'll be okay."   
  


Ray's initial elation quickly passed as he tried to wash the wound without hurting Fraser any more than necessary. The detective felt sick as he watched his friend grit his teeth and go rigid at the touch of the wet washcloth. It was an ordeal for both men. They had persevered and Ray had managed to get Fraser sitting up so he could wrap the new bandage around the wounded area. The Mountie was alarmingly weak, but Ray was still encouraged. The wound looked better than he had ever hoped. 'Fraser's tough, he'll heal, he'll be all right. We'll get through this.'   
  


His friend didn't look particularly tough at the moment though. The clean-up had taken a lot out of Fraser and his waxy pallor only emphasized the bruised look around his eyes and added to the air of fragility. He appeared to be sleeping although it wasn't a restful, easy slumber. Ray adjusted Fraser's blanket yet again and gently patted his shoulder. "Get some sleep, buddy. You'll start feeling better soon. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine."   
  


It was Diefenbaker who led Ray to the sled dogs. Ray had gone outside to collect more wood and found himself being dragged to one of the out buildings. "What is wrong with you? Get away, Dief. I'm fresh outta Milk Duds. Hey, that's my coat yer slobbering all over. What is up with you? Okay, okay, I'm coming." Even with the lantern light, it took Ray a moment to understand what he was seeing. His imagination was on overload with all the events of the past few days and his initial thought was that the place was infested with some man-eating arctic beasties. As his shock subsided, he realized he was facing a half dozen plus dogs - hungry dogs, by the looks of them. It didn't occur to Ray that Fraser had animals other than Dief, but of course, as Ray was learning, the dogs would be needed to get around in this country. Once again, Diefenbaker showed Ray where the kibble was stored in rodent proof metal cans and Ray quickly dispensed the food and stirred the icy water in the insulated trough. He would have to haul more water out tomorrow.   
  


Ray was worn out. It seemed like days ago that he had wedged himself into Malcolm's sled and took off for this destination. It had been a long day by anyone's reckoning. He poked some more logs into the stove and dragged a sleeping bag and extra blankets over to the section of floor beside Fraser's cot. The Mountie was still sleeping, or more truthfully, was still unconscious, so Ray settled himself into his makeshift bed and was soon sound asleep. Dief prowled the cabin space one last time and then he, too, plopped on the floor at the foot of the cot.   
  


Bob Fraser sat in the chair next to Benton's bed and watched as his son restlessly pushed at his blankets. The Yank had done a good job of helping Benton, but they, literally, were not of the woods by a long shot.   
  


"You rest now, Son. Sleep will do you good. Your friend is right next to you and I am keeping watch. Sleep now, Son."   
  


*****************************************************************************   
  


Ben woke up almost naturally. The climb out of the darkness had been relatively easy this time. He still ached with an intensity that made his very teeth hurt, but it wasn't as all consuming as it had been. Even better, his mind felt much clearer. He judged by the light in the room that the sun would be full up in another half hour or so. He thought he remembered that Ray had come. Ray. Ray had helped him. Ben looked to his right and smiled inwardly at the sight of his city-bred partner sprawled on the floor with one arm flung possessively over Diefenbaker. That would be an image Ben would return to whenever he needed a quick smile.   
  


"Good morning, Son. It's going to be a beautiful day. It would be a shame to sleep it away."   
  


Ben tried not to jump at the sound of his father's voice, but reflexes won out and the resulting jerk sent a torrent of fresh pain through his system.   
  


"Da...d!" he gasped.   
  


"Oh,... sorry, Son. Didn't mean to startle you. Thought you knew I was here, but I guess things are still a little bit hazy right now."   
  


Ben managed to get his breathing back under control and tried to prioritize his questions. "What happened?" he croaked.   
  


"Some spineless coward shot you, Son. Not much of a shot if he was trying to kill you...oh.... of course, that's good; in truth, though, he wasn't very adept. Humph, didn't even check to see if you were really dead." Fraser, Sr stopped his diatribe on sloppy marksmanship when he noticed Benton's increasing agitation. "Anyway, that was two....or maybe three days ago, you know, Son, time is a difficult concept when you're in the ethereal world. Days, nights, days, it just all blends together. Doesn't need to be otherwise really...."   
  


"Dad!"   
  


"Oh, right. What else would you like to know, Son?"   
  


"Ray?"   
  


"The Yank showed up yesterday, well, I explained about that time thing, and he got you cleaned up. He's a good friend, Son. A little bit excitable maybe, and not too great at fire building, but he's trainable. With a little work, he might actually make a good...."   
  


"Please....Dad. Is the person....who... shot me....still.....around ?"   
  
  
  


******************************************************************************   
  


Ray was totally disoriented. He thought he was awake, but he was lying on a floor curled up around a.....dog! 'Wha....the?' As his brain tried to process that information, the events of the past day suddenly swam into focus. He was on the floor of Fraser's cabin and his furry sleeping companion was Diefenbaker. And, he was hearing Fraser... talking? 'Oh, no, he's hallucinating. He's gotten sicker and he's delirious.' Ray launched himself to his knees and mentally braced himself.   
  


"Fraser? It's Ray, you okay? I'm here, buddy."   
  


The Mountie rolled his head towards Ray. "Hi."   
  


Ray stared into Fraser's bright blue eyes. They seemed relatively clear and maybe, he wasn't quite so pale. The detective broke into a big smile. "Hey, buddy. Welcome back."   
  


Fraser's return smile was a little bit wobbly, but it looked great to Ray. This was going to work out just fine. Fraser was going to get better and then they would go back to Chicago and everything would be all right.   
  


"Thanks, Ray. It's good..... to see you," Fraser paused to lick his lips and clear his throat. "Why... did you come?"   
  


"Aw, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. You know me, just cruising the great white north for the fun of it and then I thought, 'Hey, my buddy Fraser is within 500 miles, so I ought to drop in and see how's he's doing.' Ray aimed a goofy grin at his friend.   
  


"Oh, I see. Well, I'm glad....you're here."   
  


"Actually, I guess the Ice Queen decided she missed having you to kick around. Turnbull, well, you know. Anyway, Welsh seemed to think I was underfoot and when Thatcher whined about being understaffed, the lieutenant decided to send yours truly on the recovery mission. Think Welsh was figurin to stack up some favors. Anyway, tah dah!"   
  


Fraser frowned. "If Inspector Thatcher needs me.....I'd better get....myself together. I'll need to...."   
  


"Whoa, Fraser. Hang on. Stop." Ray was mentally kicking himself for not thinking this through better, but he hadn't figured on Fraser's overdeveloped sense of duty being an issue while the guy was laid out flat on his back with a hole in his middle. The detective took a steadying breath, "No one is expecting us back immediately. In fact, this is, ummm....sort of my vacation. You know, Welsh figured that you'd want to show me the sights and all." 'Yeah, all this beautiful snow.' Ray thought facetiously.   
  


"What about.....Florida?" Fraser asked.   
  


'Damn, Fraser isn't missing a thing here.' Ray smiled and plowed on, "Yeah, well, Florida didn't work out so, anyway, the Ice Queen said you have to at least finish out the month, something about keeping the books right, and in case you haven't noticed, you've been shot and maybe should heal a little bit more before jumping into a dog sled again. There's no....what?"   
  


"The dogs!" Fraser was struggling to get up. "The dogs need to.....be fed."   
  


"Whoa, again. Settle down, Fraser." Ray put a restraining hand on the Mountie's shoulder. "Dief and I took care of the dogs last night. They're laying out there all fat and sassy. I am all over this feeding thing. Speaking of which, how about I rustle up some eats for the humans in this place? What kind of goodies have you got stashed away in here? Chef Ray will whip up a big, old, make-you-feel-better breakfast."   
  


In the end, given the state of the supplies and Fraser's condition, they settled on oatmeal. Somehow it had come out both runny and lumpy, but Ray wanted points for having to cook in such primitive circumstances. After the meal, Ray helped Fraser get up so he could attend to "personal" matters and then helped him again as he washed up more and changed into clean clothes. Those simple tasks left the Mountie exhausted and he slept for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. The two friends spent the waking portion of the night reminiscing about their adventures in Chicago and their friends back in the big city. Of course, Ray could not pass up the chance to harass Fraser about the sacrifices he, Ray, had made to even get to the cabin.   
  


"You know, Fraser, love you like a brother and all, but you gotta know that I am never again sharing my sled ride with dead animals. I mean it is not much fun to be bouncing along with some dead thing staring at you. It's sort of discon....bobulating and yeah, unnerving. Kind of looks like it's leering at you. Ugh. I'm not doing it any more, no matter what."   
  


"Understood, Ray."   
  


The next day Fraser awoke feeling quite alert and while still in a great deal of pain physically, he was able to raise his level of activity somewhat and stay awake for longer periods of time. He even sat for a while out on the porch enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. The steps were still too daunting so Fraser watched from his chair as Ray exercised the dogs that afternoon. Ray was feeling surprisingly mellow and went about his "chores" with a confident air. It was strange to be the one calling the shots. He usually always deferred to Fraser and while Ray was okay with that, it felt good to take charge. Bob Fraser, ever hovering, was pleased with the way things were working out. Benton's exceptional progress was encouraging and the old Mountie had to concede that the Yank was proving to be more than competent.   
  


"Look how the sun is hitting that stand of firs, Son. It's a beautiful sight. Makes you happy to be alive....well, relatively speaking in some cases."   
  


"Yes, it does, Dad."   
  


****************************************************************************** 

Fraser slept fitfully that night. His dreams, wisps of troubling, half perceived dangers, tormented him. The terrible ache in his middle seemed inescapable. There was no way to lie comfortably, to achieve even a moment of respite from it. He felt jittery and restless, but conversely, too leaden to move. The blankets seemed smothering, yet later, they didn't seem to be thick or heavy enough. When morning finally came, he was exhausted.   
  


Ray had been having a really swell dream. The events in it were a little bit fuzzy, but Ray had done something spectacularly brave and wonderful and was being hailed as a hero. Lieutenant Welsh was telling someone how Ray was a regular Sherlock Holmes and Larry Holmes rolled into one. Stella loved him, Frannie loved him, the Ice Queen loved him, in fact every woman in Chicago loved him. His cheek was wet with their adoring kisses.   
  


"Aggghhhh, Dief!" Ray was indignant. " What do you think yer doing? This is not how I expect to awakened, being kissed by a dog, wolf...whatever. Do not think I'm going to stand for this. Sheesh, I can't believe the things I have to put up with around here. I'm here sleeping, having a great dream and you wake me up before I even get to the really good part. There is no justice. None." Ray yawned and stretched. "You awake, Fraser?"   
  


"Yes, Ray."   
  


"So what is up with your wolf? I mean, that is no way to wake up, with some wolf mauling you and sliming your face." He sighed pitifully.   
  


"Sorry, Ray."   
  


"Yeah, well...." Ray struggled to his knees and stretched again. "So what would you like for breakfast? What in our vast array of choices strikes yer fancy this morning? Hmmm, after I chug down a gigantic cup of kick-butt coffee to get my blood circulating that is," Ray amended with another yawn.   
  


"Nothing.....I'm fine."   
  


"Hey, okay, I know the oatmeal has been a little off, but I really think I'm getting the hang of this campfire cooking thing. If you think your stomach can handle it, I'll go all out with eggs and bacon instead or an omelette or something. You need to eat and keep your strength up."   
  


"No, I'm just....not hungry right now."   
  


Ray frowned and knee-walked closer to the cot. 'Uh, oh, Fraser doesn't look so good. In fact, he looks pretty awful,' Ray thought, noting his friend's sweat sheened pallor. "So, I'm guessing you had a rough night."   
  


"Yes. I'm not....feeling very well." Fraser admitted. 

Ray gently laid the back of his fingers against Fraser's cheek. The Mountie's skin felt outwardly clammy, but Ray could also sense a rising heat. 'Damn. Fever.'   
  


"Looks like a little too much fun in the sun yesterday. Well, shoot, I guess our training plans for the great Yukon triathlon competition will have to be postponed. Gotta tell you, I'm real disappointed and I may just go ahead and work on my walrus wrestling techniques anyway." Ray grinned and tried to keep his tone upbeat and positive. "I suppose you want to just kick back and to take it easy today. Well, that's okay, but Dr. Ray insists that you drink lots of water and juice and stuff. You really need to eat too, you know. And I'm warning ya, tomorrow we push double hard."   
  


"Understood," Fraser tried to match Ray's levity, "you know, of course, .....that walrus weigh up to one.... and a half tons..... so it's unlikely...."   
  


"Fraser!"   
  


"Oatmeal.... will be fine, Ray."   
  


It was Ray's best batch yet and he was proud. "This is good enough to pass the Goldilocks test," he proclaimed.   
  


Fraser looked at him quizzically.   
  


"You know, Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The little girl who B & E's the Bears' house and ransacks the place. She gets hungry and finds the bears' oatmeal or maybe it was porridge or gruel or something like that. Anyway, she's a picky eater, kinda like a certain Mountie I know, and only likes the baby bear's oatmeal so she scarfs the stuff and then needs a nap cuz she's all fulla oatmeal. Then I think the bears come home and find her sleeping and eat her. Something like that. You probably heard it as Goldeninkanuit and the Three Polar Bears."   
  


"I don't think so, Ray."   
  


"Yeah, well, whatever. You need to eat, Fraser. You need to kinda build up your energy."   
  


"Yes, Mom."   
  


"Dr. Ray to you."   
  


Fraser managed to eat about half of what was in his bowl, but he was feeling increasingly sick. "Please....I need to...get up."   
  


"Yeah, sure, hang on, I'll help you." Ray quickly moved into a position where he could support Fraser as he struggled to his feet. They had only staggered about three steps when Ben suddenly muttered a panicky "Oh dear." and sank to his knees.   
  


"It's okay, Fraser, I'm right here. I've got you." Ray tried to embrace his friend's shoulders as the Mountie doubled over gasping. "Easy, Fraser. Let me help you."   
  


Ben was going to be sick to his stomach. He shook from the effort of trying to control the rising nausea, but the pain was overwhelming him, surging past his flimsy controls. He felt like his middle was going to explode from the fiery pressure. 'Please...let me...get through this. Please...' His traitor insides heaved and the little bit of nourishment he had as breakfast ended up in a messy pool between his knees. Though seemingly empty, his stomach continued to twist and buck and each wrench lanced through him like a white hot spear. 'Oh, G-d, please...' Wrapping his arms even tighter around his middle, Ben tried to concentrate on holding himself together.   
  


Ray was grateful when Fraser finally passed out. The vomiting had been intense and, as evidenced by Fraser's reaction, excruciating for someone with an untreated stomach wound. It scared Ray to see his friend so helpless. The Mountie always seemed indomitable and to see him suffering such great pain was unnerving. Ray gathered Fraser more securely into his arms and pulled him away from the mess on the floor. It took a bit of maneuvering before Ray was finally able to get Fraser back on the cot. Ray felt wrung out, but his friend needed him so he gathered all the medical supplies they had on hand and a fresh basin of water. The detective tried to work quickly to take advantage of Fraser's unconscious state.   
  


The stomach wound looked decidedly worse. The edges of the bullet hole were puffy and red and the whole immediate area was swollen and hot. 'We've got trouble right here in River City, ' Ray thought with a strong jolt of panic. 'We need a doctor and we need one now.' He fought down his despair and concentrated on cleaning the wound as best he could. 

Bob Fraser leaned over the detective's shoulder and watched as Ray gently dabbed antiseptic cream on the freshly washed area. "It's infected, Yank. That bullet is going to have to be removed."   
  


Ray rocked back suddenly on his heels. 'Who am I kidding, this thing's infected. That bullet's got to come out.' But even as the thought took form, Ray pushed it away and shook his head at the impossibility of it. 'There's no doctor within 200 miles of here. We'll just have to keep it clean and try to get Fraser well enough to move back to civilization or figure out a way to get help here.'   
  


"You'll have to take it out, Yank. There's no one else. It's the only hope of curbing the infection. You'll have to remove the bullet." Fraser, Sr. insisted.   
  


'Damn it. We need a doctor. I know it's infected and we need to get the bullet out, but I can't do it. I can't operate on Fraser. I know nothing about this kind of thing. I'm doing good just looking at it without tossing my lunch. I'd kill him. I'd do something wrong and kill him. Damn it.' Ray looked miserably at his unconscious friend.   
  


"We'll get through this somehow, Fraser. I promise you we will. I won't let you down." Ray said resolutely as he finished bandaging the Mountie's mid-section.   
  


"Good man." Bob Fraser affirmed.   
  


On the positive side, the head wound appeared to be much better. Even though the crease had been rather deep, it was already filling in and looked less traumatic. Ray found he could look at it without his own stomach flip-flopping uncomfortably. The goop seemed to helping with the little puncture on Fraser's cheek as well. The bruising was still pretty florid, but the hole itself was starting to heal. 'Normally, two outta three's a good bet, but....' Ray sighed, "Oh, Fraser....what are we going to do?"   
  


Ben awoke about two hours later. He had been restless and had made small hurt noises that made Ray flinch every time. Fraser's color seemed pinker, but Ray had a sinking feeling it was the fever making the Mountie's cheeks flush.   
  


"Well, good morning again. Sure, just sleep the day away while some of us have been slaving away. I gotta talk to Malcolm about those dogs, they aren't exactly the most obedient things on four legs. " Ray tried to sound aggrieved.   
  


"Sorry....Ray."   
  


"It's okay. How are you feeling?" Ray couldn't help the hopeful lilt in his voice.   
  


Fraser considered the question carefully. He was hurting and bone-tired, but he wasn't nauseous, "Better."   
  


"Well, we take what we can get and call it good. Had me a little bit worried there, buddy." Ray flashed a quick smile. 'In fact, you scared the liver outta me.' he thought, but added with a grin, "And don't be blaming my cooking either. It would be a serious blow to Chef Ray's ego to think that my award winning oatmeal had anything to do with it." 

"I'm sure...not, Ray."   
  


"Good, good. Uh, I think we need to get some fluids into you. We don't want you to get de- vaporated."   
  


"De....hydrated, Ray."   
  


"Yeah, whatever; all dried out, like some raisin. I gotta tell ya, you don't look too good to start with. You've got your friend, Dr. Ray, kinda concerned here."   
  


The water seemed to sit all right and Ray tried to take some encouragement from that. Fraser dozed off shortly afterwards, but it wasn't a peaceful, restorative sleep. As Ray carefully re-tucked the blankets around his shivering friend for the third time, the detective knew in his heart of hearts that Fraser was not doing well at all. He seemed to be getting sicker and if Fraser's thrashing was any indicator, the pain level was increasing also. 'What the hell are we going to do?' Ray thought desperately as he laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on Fraser's fever- hot forehead, 'What the hell are we going to do?'   
  


When he awoke later, Fraser accepted some more water and a little bit of juice, but refused to eat anything.   
  


"Come on, you need to keep your strength up. You really should try to eat something. How about some of that clear soup, whadda you call it ...broth? It's practically like water. I'm sure you could keep that down." Ray bullied.   
  


"I just......can't."   
  


"Okay for now, " Ray conceded with a dramatic sigh, "but, I'm good at this nagging stuff and if it came down to a fight, I'm betting I could take you."   
  


"Un...derstood."   
  


"I know you don't feel so great right now, but you're getting better. You're going to be all right." Ray stubbornly insisted.   
  


"I.....know, Ray."   
  


"Look, Fraser, I'm going to go outside for a little bit and make like Paul Bunyon with the ax. The kindling is getting low and I need to do this while it's still light enough that I don't cut my own leg off. But, I'll be right outside if you need anything. Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to leave Dief with you?"   
  


"No, Ray. I'll be....fine. Take...Dief. He needs...to run."   
  


"Okay, I'm right outside. You need something, you holler." Ray reached for the door knob, "Oh shoot, can you holler loud enough do you think?"   
  


"Yes...I think so."   
  


"Okay, good. Good. I'll leave the door open a bit. I'll just be outside."   
  


As Ray and Dief left the cabin, Ben managed a weak wave. He felt terrible. The achy hurt seemed to be devouring him at times. He didn't really think he was getting better. Ray was trying so hard, but....   
  


"Hello, Son."   
  


Ben choked back an alarmed cry as his father's face loomed into view. "Agg....Da....."   
  


"Oh sorry, Son. I would think you would remember I'm here, but no matter. We need to talk, Son. To come right to it, your wound is not improving. In fact, it's infected and I know you're not going to be keen on the idea, but the bullet has to removed. Before you say anything, I know the Yank is no doctor. Actually, he's kind of weak stomached for a police officer, but one doesn't always have the luxury of....well, as I was saying, the point is, your friend needs to take that bullet out. Don't look so upset, it should be simple enough. It's just one bullet. Did I ever tell you about Foster Breynat? Now that was a nasty one, poor Fos...uh, no, maybe we should discuss it another time. As I was saying, Benton, you have to convince the Yank to help you. The infection is just going to get worse and it could very well kill you, Son."   
  


Ben just stared as his brain tried to absorb what his father had said.   
  


"Now, Son, the bullet's in your abdomen and it shouldn't have affected either your hearing or your tongue. At least blink so I know you're there."   
  


Ben blinked.   
  


"Good. I'm right, you know. The Yank is going to resist the idea, but he needs to do this for you. You'll never get better with that bullet shifting around inside of you and the infection will just continue to spread. Have to nip it in the bud, Son." Bob Fraser persisted.   
  


His father was right, Ben knew it. He didn't want to accept it though. He tried to focus, to think it through. It would be terrible for Ray. He was barely managing the bandaging sessions. Ben shook his head wearily. How....   
  


"Benton!" his father interjected. "Don't go getting stubborn on this. Now is not the time for mulish behavior. Are you listening, Son? You will probably die unless the Yank helps you and even though I've put a good face on this dead business, it's not right for a man to leave with his responsibilities undone. You have duties, Son, and a life to fulfill. You have things you need to do yet. What about my grandchildren? What kind of legacy would you be leaving them?" Fraser Sr. quickly changed tact when he saw Ben's perplexed frown. "What about the RCMP? You swore an oath, Son. Surely, that means something to you and how do you think the Yank's going to feel if you die? It wouldn't be right to do that to a friend."   
  


"Raaay......," Ben tried to clear his throat, "would......feel....worse if...if.....he felt....he was respon.....responsi...ble."   
  


"He's your friend, Benton. How do you think he'll feel watching you die a little bit more each day? You owe him the chance to help you." Bob Fraser finished softly.   
  


Ben was confused. There was a logic to what his father said, but it didn't feel.... right. It was too complicated and he felt so sick that he couldn't think beyond the pain. Maybe, later....when his head was clearer.   
  


"Son, you know I'm right. You must get the Yank to help you."   
  


"I......can't," Ben gasped. "I can't.....ask Ray...."   
  


"Ask me what, Fraser?" Ray had slipped back into the cabin as quietly as possible in case Fraser was sleeping again.   
  


Ray knelt by the cot and laid the back of his hand against the Mountie's cheek. 'Oh, boy, he's burning up,' he thought grimly as he wrung out the washcloth that had been sitting in the bedside basin. He gently wiped the sweat from Fraser's face and after rinsing and wringing the cloth again, folded it into a long, cool compress that he laid on his friend's forehead. "Ask me what?" Ray prodded.   
  


"Ask him to help you, Son. Tell him to remove that bullet. You must, Son. Tell him.."   
  


"Noth....it's....okay, Ray." Ben closed his eyes.   
  


"Oh, Son."   
  


"Fraser?"   
  


"...so tired...." Ben murmured without opening his eyes.   
  


"Okay, buddy, you sleep for a while. A rest will do you good. I'll be right here. Just sleep, Fraser," Ray said softly as he repositioned the washcloth compress and arranged the blankets more securely around his friend.   
  


Diefenbaker whined questioningly.   
  


Ray shook his head. "Not looking good, boy," he whispered, "not looking good at all."   
  


"That's because that bullet has got to be removed." Bob Fraser spoke up from just over Ray's left shoulder. "The infection is spreading and it will kill him unless you remove the bullet, Yank."   
  


Ray dropped his head into his hands. 'Fraser isn't improving. He's getting sicker and somehow we have got to get that bullet out of him. Damn it, Fraser, how are we going to that?' Ray jumped to his feet and started pacing the small confines of the cabin.   
  


Fraser Sr. matched him step for step. "It's up to you, Yank. The bullet is poisoning his system. It's killing him. You have got to be the doctor here. It's up to you to save your friend."   
  


Across the room, Ben pushed fretfully at the bed coverings and cried out weakly in his sleep. The compress slid off his forehead and landed with a wet plop on the pillow beside his head.   
  


Ray stopped and stared at the growing wet spot and then at his friend tossing and turning on the narrow cot. 'Dear G-d, Fraser. It's just you and me here. The calvary isn't going to come over the hill with an ER staff in tow. It's up to me. I've got to play doctor for real.' Ray snatched up the washcloth and gave it a savage twist. 'These are high stakes here. I know nothing about this kind of thing. You know me. How am I going to do this?' Ray's frantic thoughts banged against each other. He looked at the now knotted cloth clutched in his hands. 'I gotta chill. I gotta get a grip, but how am I going to what needs to be done? What if I kill you? What if I do nothing? You're dying, aren't you? I gotta help you. I gotta try to save you. I don't want to hurt you, but what am I going to do? If I don't try, you're gonna die. If I do try, you may die. What kind of choice is that?' The detective hurled the washcloth across the room and grasped his hands on top of his head. 'I gotta try to help you. You understand that, don't you? I've gotta try.'   
  


Taking a deep, calming breath and kneeling once again by the cot, Ray moistened a fresh cloth and washed Ben's neck, face and upper chest with the cool rag. The Mountie moved restlessly under the cloth and made those small wounded sounds that tore into Ray's heart. "I'm not going to let you die, Fraser. I'll do whatever it takes to get you through this." Ray swore fervently. "You and me, we're friends." He paused and added almost as an oath to himself, "Friends help each other no matter what. I won't let you down."   
  


Bob Fraser nodded. "That's good. That's good. You're a fine friend, Yank."   
  


Ray touched his fingertips to Ben's bare shoulder. Even after the cool water, Ray could feel the fever pulsing off Fraser's skin and the tremors shaking his friend's body. 'Come morning,' the detective thought wearily, 'come morning, we'll do something about getting that bullet out.' 

Fraser woke up several hours later and insisted on getting up to take care of "personals". He was appallingly weak and even with Ray's extensive support, the effort required for the simplest task left Ben trembling with exhaustion.   
  


"Sor...sor...ry, " Ben panted after he stumbled hard against Ray's hip almost knocking them both to the floor.   
  


"S'ok, Fraser. We'll have you back to bed in a jif. We're almost there, hang on." Ray struggled to maneuver his friend back onto the cot without jarring his wounded middle. "We'll sit you down first and then lift your legs up and over. Do you think you can do that? "   
  


Even though Ben's chin was now resting on Ray's shoulder, the Mountie's "Yes" was so faint that Ray barely heard it. What Ray could hear clearly though was Fraser's rough, hitched breathing as he fought to contain the pain.   
  


"I've got you, buddy. I've got you. Just try to sit. That's right, a little more." Ray was himself nearly breathless from the strain of trying to control Fraser's almost dead weight. "Okay, okay, just rest a moment. You can lie down again in a minute, whenever you're ready."   
  


Fraser sat hunched over on the edge of the cot, shaking and gasping in harsh staccato breaths. Kneeling in front of him, Ray put a steadying hand on Ben's shoulder. "It's okay. You're going to be okay. I'm here." Ray peered anxiously at his friend.   
  


"It will be all right, Son. The Yank is going to help you get well. You'll be feeling better soon." Bob Fraser intoned from behind Ray.   
  


Ben raised his head and tried to focus on the two figures in front of him. The pain was starting to blot out everything. He didn't feel like he would ever be well again, but his friend would help him. Ray would help him. His father, too. That was his lifeline. He wanted to say, "Thank you." All he could manage, though, was not to scream.   
  


Ray felt his heart constrict as he looked at Fraser's upturned face. Agony had etched deep lines into the Mountie's features. "Oh, Fraser, I promise you, it will be all right. You'll be all right, I swear." Ray lifted his hand and touched the side of Fraser's face. "You're gonna be okay, buddy." Ray blinked rapidly to curb the tears rising in his eyes. 'Gotta be tough here. Gotta be the strong one,' he thought with a mental shake. "Let's get you comfortable, Fraser," the detective concluded with a husky timber to his voice.   
  


Ray slipped one hand behind Ben's shoulders and with his other hand behind Ben's knees, the detective lifted and eased Fraser fully back onto the cot. Ray watched helplessly as the Mountie immediately rolled onto his right side and drew up into a protective fetal curl. Ray pulled up the blankets and tried to tuck them around Fraser's shaking form.   
  


'Damn it, damn it, damn it. How could this have happened?' Ray wanted to lash out at someone, anyone. He wanted to make someone pay for Fraser's suffering. Above all, he wanted to gather Fraser into his arms and just hold him and make him well through sheer will. The cot was too narrow and unstable to hold both men so Ray had to content himself with rubbing Ben's back until a change in breathing signaled the Mountie had slipped into another uneasy sleep. "Love you like a brother, Fraser."   
  


Ray clumsily got to his feet and stretched out his legs and back, stiffened from too much time kneeling in an awkward position. He tried to decide what to do next. He knew he should try to sleep. He needed to be rested and clear headed and strong for the task tomorrow. Yes, sleep would be good, but the thought was swamped by the rising anxiety he could feel pushing into his thoughts. Ray gave himself a shake and started walking a little circuit around the room.   
  


'How am I ever going to do this?' he wondered again. 'I don't know the first thing about medicine and operations and hospital stuff.' His pacing speeded up. 'We don't have medical stuff just sitting around. What do I even use to take out a bullet? We don't have a tray of those scalper things sitting on the shelf. I have a pen knife in my pack and there's dinner knives and a steak knife and the ax. Oh, yea, I can do some fine carving with those.' Ray just missed knocking over a chair as he careened by. 'And then after I make this big hole and take out the lead, how do I close it up and make it all nice again? And what about Fraser? Do I just hit him in the head with something and hope he doesn't wake up while I'm rooting around inside him with a knife?' The thought was so horrific that Ray wanted to run screaming from the cabin.   
  


"I'm going out for wood, Dief. Gotta get more wood," Ray announced as he bolted through the door. The cold night air slapped at him and brought a measure of sobriety. 'Get a grip, Kowalski. You gotta chill.' Ray breathed deeply and tried to corral his frenzied thoughts. 'It's not like there's a choice here. Fraser needs you. You're his only chance at getting through this. Settle down and think about what you have to do.'   
  


Bob Fraser leaned companionably on the porch rail next to Ray, "You know, Yank, back in 1953 - oh, let me tell you those were wild times - well anyway, Tractor Dougherty was working his trap line up near Wabasca Lake and discovered some scoundrel had knifed and robbed old man Moffitt, leaving him for dead in the snow. Moffitt was grievously hurt, had one foot in the grave. Tractor was certainly no doctor and he wasn't packing even a first aid kit on that sled, but he had his wits and good sense. Moffitt pulled through, kind of walked with a hunch thereafter... but, the point is, you do your best with what you have available. Circumstances aren't always perfect, but you can make things work."   
  


Ray was feeling better. The combination of cold and the peaceful night helped settle his jagged nerves. He would handle whatever tomorrow brought. He and Fraser would get through this. It was like that saying about lemons and lemonade. Ray would make it work out. No way was he going to let Fraser down.   
  


"It will be fine, Dief." Ray said just to hear it out loud. "We'll have Fraser up and at'em again. Tomorrow, we'll get that bullet out and he'll start feeling much better." Ray raised his hand to slap a one-sided high five.   
  


"That's the way to go, Yank. You can do it." Bob Fraser concurred, returning the detective's celebratory gesture.   
  


'Oooh, spooky,' thought Ray fleetingly as he bounded down the steps toward the woodpile.   
  


With his arms full of split logs, Ray shouldered his way back into the cabin. A quick look told him that Fraser had again kicked off the blankets and was shivering violently despite the heat from the stove. Dumping the wood, Ray sprinted to Fraser's side and dragged the coverings back up around him. "It's going to be all right. I promise you, Fraser, you're going to be all right." Ray stroked the Mountie's damp hair and kept whispering the hopeful litany, "You're gonna be all right, I promise...."   
  


Ben awoke first. The gnawing pain radiating out of his middle had sharpened during the night and now seemed to be lancing into every part of his body. The cot no longer provided any comfort. It felt like it was ensnaring him. He needed to get up. In his fevered desperation, he thought if he could just get up and move, the pain would lessen. Ray's soft snoring indicated he was sound asleep and Ben realized how exhausted his friend must be. 'I ....can't keep....imposing on ....Ray. I......can do this. I can.... get myself.....up. Ray.... needs to rest.' Fraser concentrated on forcing his aching body into a semi-upright position and struggled to inch his legs over the side of the cot away from his sleeping friend.   
  


"What are you doing, Son?!" Bob Fraser asked in alarm. "You shouldn't be getting up by yourself. Benton, wake the Yank up to help you."   
  


"I....can...." Ben hissed as his feet thumped one, two on the floor.   
  


"You're going to hurt yourself. You're too weak. Wake up, Yank! Benton, just wait a minute!"   
  


Ben ignored his father and with one arm wrapped tightly around his middle, he grabbed onto the chair by the bed to steady himself. The sweat was stinging his eyes, but he ignored that too and with a half-suppressed groan pushed himself to his feet. It was a mistake. Between his skewed equilibrium and excessive weakness, his body couldn't support itself and Ben pitched forward pulling the chair under him as he crashed to the floor. His agonized cry ricocheted off the cabin walls.   
  


"Fraser! I'm here. I'm here." Still half asleep, Ray lurched up from his nest of blankets on the floor and grabbed the edge of the cot. 'What.....' he was confused by the empty bed. "Oh, my G-d, Fraser!" Ray scrambled over the cot to Fraser's side. "What happened? What have you done?" Ray's heart hammered against his throat. "I'm here, buddy. I'm here."   
  


Ray tried to pull the Mountie into his arms, but Fraser fought him. The dagger-like pain from the fall had triggered a convulsive reaction and Ben writhed as his tortured insides cramped and twisted. Snaking a supportive arm across Ben's chest and using his other hand to hold Ben's forehead, Ray tried to talk Fraser through it.   
  


"It's okay, Fraser, it's gonna be okay. I'm here." Ray pitched his voice to be reassuring and soothing, but the Mountie's distress was undermining Ray's own resolve. "Shush, Fraser, it's gonna be all right. I'm here, buddy. I've got you. Please, Fraser."   
  


Whether it was due to exhaustion or a subsiding of the pain or the comfort of his friend's embrace, Fraser finally stopped his tormented thrashing and fell back against Ray's chest. The Mountie's raspy panting was a perfect counterpoint to Ray's racing heartbeat.   
  


"Oh, man, Fraser. Manischewitz." Ray struggled to get himself back on an even keel and gulped down a big breath. Fraser lay hot and heavy against him.   
  


"I.....m.....not...." Ben's words barely dented the air.   
  


"It's okay, Fraser. Don't try to talk. Just rest a while." Ray hugged Fraser closer.   
  


"......R.....ay." Ben tried to twist around to look at his friend, but the effort left him gasping again.   
  


"Wait, it's okay. Here." Ray reluctantly changed his hold and eased Fraser down into a semi- reclining position where the Mountie's head rested on Ray's upper thigh. The two men locked eyes.   
  


"I'm......... get.....ting.....," Fraser ran his tongue over his dry lips, "wor....se...." He closed his eyes and Ray thought for a moment that the Mountie had passed out, but Fraser continued. "You....have......to.....go............," another slow wetting of his lips with his tongue, "for..... hel....p .....Mal....col....mmm." he finished. He opened his eyes and fixed Ray with a fever bright stare.   
  


Ray was stunned. 'What is Fraser saying? He has to know that he can't survive if I leave. What is up with this? What is he thinking?'   
  


"......have to......go....," Fraser moaned.   
  


'What kind of self-sacrificing, heroic, Mountie crap is this?' It suddenly hit Ray, 'Does he think he can spare me by dying without me?' Ray became angry.   
  


"No way, buddy. I'm here and I'm not leaving you. You understand, Fraser?" Ray brandished a clenched fist. "I am not leaving you! Yeah, I know you're not doing too good. The bullet's infected the wound. It's what's making the pain so bad. It's gotta come out. I'm no doctor, we both know that, but I'm gonna take that bullet out of you and make you better. Me. I'm doing this. I'm not gonna let you die so forget that." Ray paused and self-consciously relaxed his hand.   
  


"Raa......"   
  


Using just his fingertips, Ray brushed a sweaty lock of hair off his friend's forehead. "Fraser, don't ask me to leave you. I can't and I won't. Whatever happens, we're in this together. You and me. I'm gonna do everything I can to help you. We're gonna get through this." Ray grasped Fraser's hand in a traditional Chicago street handshake and pledged softly, "We're gonna get through this - together."   
  


"Amen," Bob Fraser seconded.   
  


"O.....K," Fraser agreed.   
  


"Besides, I don't have a clue how to hook up a dog sled." Ray winked.   
  


"Un.....der....sto....od," Fraser panted.   
  


"All right, then." Ray gave Fraser's hand another quick squeeze before releasing it. "I need to get things together. It's gonna be okay. Umm, let's get you back on the bed."   
  


"No.....he...re." Ben's words came out tired and slow.   
  


"Yeah, okay. You just rest while I figure out what I need. We'll get this done ASAP and you'll start feeling much better. I promise, Fraser, it's gonna be all right." Ray stretched an arm back behind him to the cot and snagged the pillow to ease under Fraser's head ."I'm all over this. I won't let you down." Ray concluded as he settled a blanket over the Mountie.   
  


Fraser nodded weakly. "Tha.......nk...," he ground out through clenched teeth.   
  


Ray faked a hearty smile. "It's gonna be all right, buddy. Dr. Ray is gonna take care of you." He gave Fraser's shoulder one last pat and then staggered to his feet. "Ooo, a little stiff here," Ray grunted as he straightened his spine and flexed his legs. "Okay, I've got to get some things together. You just rest. It won't take too long. You'll be feeling better soon. Just hang in there." The detective stumbled into the kitchen area and started rummaging for items he could use for the "operation".   
  


Bob Fraser bent low so that his son could see him. "This is it. You're going to have to be strong, Son. I imagine there will be some pain involved, but nothing you can't handle. Mounties deal with this kind of thing all the time. Granted, the Yank's no doctor. In fact....well, never mind. The point is, Son, the next bit of time is going to be...uncomfortable, but you'll be fine in the end. Don't lose sight of the end, Son." Fraser Sr. straightened up and turned to watch Ray banging around in the cupboards. "I'd better go lend a hand to this enterprise." he muttered.   
  


The medical supplies Ray had scrounged together looked woefully inadequate. He had finally remembered Fraser's boot knife and was relieved to see its finely honed edge and tip. It would be the best thing for the cutting part. His stomach did a little flip-flop at the thought, but he resolutely centered his mind on the practical concerns. With surprise, Ray had found a large needle and what looked to be some sort of sinew stuffed into a little pouch. He suspected it was used for mending boots or snowshoes or some sort of gear. He doubted he would actually be able to use it on Fraser though. The image of casually stitching through human flesh really made him sick. He inhaled deeply and bent over with his hands on his knees. 'Shit.' He breathed out slowly.   
  


"Better find some rope, Yank." Bob Fraser stated emphatically into Ray's left ear. "Benton needs to be kept still. Can't have him bashing around when you're trying to dig out a bullet."   
  


Ray snapped upright as another thought pushed into his brain. He'd probably have to tie Fraser down for this. As repulsed as he was by the idea, he knew he had to make sure the Mountie didn't move while there was a knife in him. 'Damn it, damn it, damn it. I'm sorry, Fraser. Really sorry.' Ray felt helpless. "Hey, Fraser, I need to make a quick run to the shed. I'll be back in a flash." Ray didn't wait for a response as he dashed out into the morning air. In a distant corner of his mind, he registered that it was going to be a beautiful day, but his attention was focused on finding a hank of rope or cord. What he found felt stiff and rough. He would have to pad it somehow. He didn't want Fraser tearing his skin on these coarse restraints.   
  


Back in the cabin once more, Ray made a quick check on Fraser who in Ray's absence, had again drawn himself into a fetal position and was lying heavily on his right side. Since his eyes were closed and he appeared to be resting, Ray moved away quietly and considered the problem of sterilizing the "instruments." He decided he would boil the knife and needle first, then soak them in the rubbing alcohol he had unearthed. He'd have to be careful to wash his hands really well and maybe dip them into the alcohol also. He'd need to rip up some more bandages and have them ready. 'Yea, I'm getting this thing together. I can do this,' he thought with an increased measure of surety. He punched his fists into the air. 'Yes!'   
  


"You'll have to sterilize the wound when you're done." Bob Fraser decreed. "You'll have to find a way to stop the infection." 

Ray's next thought instantly deflated his confidence. 'I have to sterilize the wound, too. How am I going to do that?' He snatched up the Neosporin tube and squinted at the directions. In bold lettering it warned that it was for external use only and, in the case of deep punctures, a physician should be consulted. 'Damn it, what does that mean exactly? I can't dial up the physician's hotline to check on the exact proper conditions needed to use it.' He frowned, 'Maybe with the alcohol...?' Ray just wasn't sure. 'Straight alcohol poured into a raw wound like that will hurt like hell.' He shuddered with empathy. 'Of course, what part of this thing isn't going to hurt?' He did recognize the absurdity of that particular concern although he hated the idea of causing Fraser any additional pain.   
  


As Ray further pondered the goop/alcohol angle, yet another wretched thought powered into his consciousness. He hadn't solved the actual knocking Fraser out problem. 'Oh, yeah, just a minor concern. How do I keep the patient sedated while I'm sticking a knife into him? That's going to be a really fun thing for everybody. I don't have enough rubbing alcohol to spare to get Fraser drunk. It would probably poison him anyway.' Ray's mind raced as he selected and rejected various options. Suddenly, images dredged up from his TV addiction days flashed before him. He remembered vividly all the westerns he watched where the good guy lay there biting down on a hunk of leather while his faithful sidekick extracted the bullet/arrow. Ray shook his head in despair. It was hardly a solution, but he couldn't just bash Fraser in the head either. 

The detective crept closer to where Fraser lay in a tight ball on the floor. Even from a distance, the depth of his friend's suffering slammed into Ray. The rigidity of the Mountie's curved back, the visible tremors and the broken breathing all drove it home once more that Fraser's pain far exceeded the RCMP creed of ignoring hurt and pushing on. Ray's compassion threatened to overwhelm him. The truth was, he loved this crazy Canadian, as a partner, as a friend, as a brother. 'Damn it, Fraser. This has to end. I've got to get this done.' Fresh resolve surged through Ray.   
  


He was on the move again. He filled a large pan with water and set it on the stove to heat and then started tearing up strips of a fresh sheet to use for covering the wound afterwards. He had already used most of the clean towels, but he would still need something to mop up the, he shuddered again, blood. Ray scowled, but then brightened as his eyes roved over his bulging backpack. He had been nervous about freezing to death during the trek here and had crammed almost every piece of clothing he owned into the pack and its pockets. He could use some for clean up and some for padding the ropes. "Ok, that's good. That's good." he cheered as he pulled fresh t-shirts and sweats from the pack.   
  


"OK, OK, what am I forgettin'?" Ray spun in place with both hands clamped to his head. "I know I'm forgettin' something." He felt like he was getting ready to explode. He kind of wanted a big cup of coffee, but he realized he was already so wired that the extra boost of caffeine would probably launch him higher than H3's plane could fly. Eating anything was for sure out of the question. His stomach was queasy enough and tossing his cookies during surgery would not be reassuring to his patient. Ray stifled a nervous laugh. He checked the water. It was just beginning to boil. He took a big gulp of air. "Almost show time," he announced quietly to Dief who lay ever watchful by his master's side.   
  


Ray moved to the far side of the cot and pulled off all the linens except for the bottom sheet. It wasn't as clean as he would have liked, but Fraser didn't keep a big stock of bed stuff in the cabin. As Ray piled the ropes and his clothing items by the cot, the enormity of the task he was facing caused him to falter. 'My G-d, I'm about to play doctor with my best friend. And it's not the fun, hey-let's-play-doctor stuff with the girl next door. This is the real, serious, live-or-die thing complete with technicolor blood and guts.' The detective staggered backwards as a fist of pure panic punched into him. "What am I doing? My G-d, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not a doctor." Ray didn't even realize he had spoken out loud until Diefenbaker gave a sharp bark.   
  


The wolf nosed at him and continued a series of questioning whines. "Wha...? Oh. Yeah, it's okay, Dief. Sorry. Just got a little nervous there. It's okay. Just a little case of nerves." Ray cracked his neck. "but, I'm okay. Yeah, I'm doing good here. You know, this is a major big thing and I just got a little worried is all and jeez, I'm not a doctor or anything." Ray's voice started to climb in pitch. "I'm just nervous. You gotta expect that."   
  


"Good heavens, Yank, get a hold of yourself. You'll not help Benton by falling to pieces. Benton needs you. You can do this." Bob Fraser growled in frustration as his slap to the American's face breezed harmlessly by. "Hmmph, being dead most decidedly has its drawbacks. It's not at all convenient at times." Fraser Sr. groused.   
  


A sudden waft of cool air had a sobering effect on Ray. He took a deep breath and hugged himself. "Man, I gotta calm down. I gotta get a grip here. I gotta breathe nice and easy and just chill." Ray concentrated on his breathing for a few minutes. "Yeah, better. I'm okay...."   
  


"Raaa....?" Fraser's plaintive question vaporized the last of Ray's panic as concern for his friend overrode everything else.   
  


Ray hurried around the cot and knelt on the floor next to Fraser. "I'm here, buddy. It's okay. Ray's here. What do you need?"   
  


"You.........okay?" Ben worried. 

"Me?" Ray tried to sound incredulous. "Yeah, sure. I'm right as rain. Everything is cool with me. Just, you know, having a little chat with your wolf here which I can not believe, but then again it's not like there's a lot of people streaming through this place. Gotta find conversation wherever." Ray shrugged and then powered up a 150 watt smile. "Yep, doing just fine. What ya need, buddy?"   
  


"U....ppp,,,,,,pleass." Fraser attempted to slip onto his knees.   
  


After a bit of gentle pushing and pulling, Fraser was finally upright, but hunched, and with his friend's support moving toward the bathroom. Ray had tried to talk up the long distance trucker's friend, a nice clean jar, but Fraser refused and with as much dignity as he could muster, shuffled determinedly forward. Ray sighed to himself, 'One thing I should know by now is that Mounties are very freakish about these bathroom matters. Stubborn, too.' he added.   
  


The return trip was arduous at best. Ray could feel how much Fraser's strength was flagging. "Okay, buddy. We're here. Just turn this way. Yeah, just a little. Okay, okay, easy. Here, I'll help you." Ray used all his muscle to ease the Mountie back onto the cot.   
  


"Good. Yeah, you made it just fine." Ray felt his heart lurch as he saw Fraser clench his teeth and grab at the stomach wound. Agony twisted the Mountie's face. 'Now,' Ray thought with desperation. 'No more waiting. I've got to do this now.'   
  


"Easy, Fraser." Ray pulled the chair closer to the cot and perched in such a way that he could make easy eye contact. He laid his hand on Ben's shoulder, feeling again the heat radiating off the bare skin. "Fraser, remember we talked about getting that bullet out of you? It's making you sick. It's got to come out. It's the only way you're going to get better. Ya remember?" Ray prayed his friend understood what he was asking. 

Ben's eyes were glazed with hurting, but he managed a weak nod. Yes. He remembered.   
  


"Good, good. Okay, here's the deal." Ray drew a deep breath and rushed on. "The sooner, the better. No sense dragging this out. Dr. Ray is ready to do his thing. You're gonna feel much better once we get this done so I'm thinking it's time. Got a few things to finish getting ready, but you just get to lie there and I'll be back in a flash and then we're good to go. You okay with that, Fraser? You with me on this?" Ray found himself gripping the side of the cot like it was about to fly away. Behind him, Bob Fraser awaited his son's response.   
  


"Yy....." Ben wet his lips and tried again to push the syllables out. "Ye...sss, Ra.......aaa," the rest of his words fell away in a groan.   
  


"It's okay, don't try to talk anymore. Look, I'll be right back. I just gotta get a few things lined out. It's gonna be okay, Fraser. I'm going to take care of this. You're going to be fine, I promise." Ray lifted his hand and briefly touched the side of Fraser's face. "It's going to be all right, my friend." The detective tried to smile, but couldn't hold it and jumping up, rushed back to the kitchen to sterilize the knife and needle.   
  


Bob Fraser leaned over the cot and caught his son's eye. "I'm afraid you're in for a bit of ....unpleasantness, but buck up, Son. You can't know your true measure until you've tested your mettle. The Yank's doing the best he can and I expect you to do the same. Remember, Benton, you're a Mountie. Proper deportment is your duty." Bob paused and looked more closely at his son, "Of course, I suppose you will be unconscious, but.....hmmmm, better make sure the Yank has everything in order." Fraser Sr. drifted toward the kitchen.   
  


Ben stared at the ceiling and tried to focus on what was going to happen to him. Pain. More. Terrible. Yes. No help....for it. Ray. Would Ray..... Ben's thoughts lost their center as another fiery spasm burned through his insides. He dimly tasted the harsh tang of blood as he bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out.   
  


Ray was baffled. He hadn't found anything appropriate to have Fraser bite down on. The idea of gagging his friend made Ray want to gag so he had to find something else. 'I could stick an apple in his mouth like one of those roast pigs or whatever,' he thought crazily. 'No, no. Sheesh, get a grip. How about a hunk of wood?' That didn't seem so bad. 'It's natural. Fraser would like that and it's a whole bunch cleaner than some of the stuff he puts in his mouth when he's looking for clues.' Ray shivered with the memory of Fraser's taste testing in the morgue. 'But what if he bit down too hard and got splinters in his mouth? That would suck.' Ray rooted through the shelves some more.   
  


"Could use a piece of dog harness." Bob Fraser mused. "I suppose it would be a little gamey, but a little husky sweat wouldn't be the worst thing." 

Diefenbaker woofed sharply.   
  


"Well, it was just an idea. No need to get your fur all ruffled." Bob harumphed.   
  


"Got it!" Ray waved a package of Dief's rawhide chew sticks triumphantly.   
  


"Okay, now what?" Ray reviewed his mental checklist, ticking off each item with his fingers. Everything in his meager arsenal of supplies seemed to be at the ready \-- except the patient. Ray straightened his spine and forced himself to look over at his friend. 'I hate this. I really hate this,' the detective thought for the umpteenth time. With a quick neck crack and a determined set to his jaw, he crossed the room to where Fraser lay waiting. "Hey, buddy. Hey, Fraser, it's time for Dr. Ray to do his magic." Ray reached deep to come up with what he hoped was an Oscar winning performance of a confident, positive doctor guy. "We'll have you feeling tip top in just a little while! Just got do a few things first to make you comfortable."   
  


'Oh, right. Like tie you to the bed so you can't escape and stuff something in your mouth so you can't scream and freak out your highly skilled surgeon, the amazing Dr. Ray. Yep, this is your lucky day, Fraser, old buddy.' Ray's thoughts circled this unhappy scenario like proverbial vultures until a not quite stifled groan from Fraser grounded them back in reality.   
  


Ray quickly grabbed a length of rope and one of his sweatshirts. "Okay, the straight deal...I gotta make sure you don't move while I'm doing my expert doctoring thing so I gotta kinda, sorta, you know, tie you down. Cuz you sure don't want to be moving while I'm looking for that bullet," Ray took a fast breath and rattled on. "And, even if you're sleeping \- which I strongly recommend, by the way - you might, like stretch or something, and that would not be a good thing so I'm just gonna lay this sweatshirt across your chest like this to kinda pad this rope...you know these ropes are real rough, I couldn't find anything really soft, you know like ladies' pantyhose, hardy har har, or....well, this is what we had and everything's clean. Sorry, Fraser, I gotta make this kinda tight. You know, it won't work if it's too loose," Ray grunted with the effort of keeping just the right amount of tension on the rope as he tied it off. "There, it's not too tight is it? You're doing okay, aren't you?" He chanced a look at Fraser's face.   
  


As he met Fraser's calm gaze and saw the feeble yes nod, Ray felt his throat constrict and the words he intended to say next jumbled up and stuck. Before he could become unglued, Ray swooped up another length of rope and moved down to Fraser's legs. Using sweat pants for cushioning this time, he ran a couple of loops around the Mountie's pelvis and then snaked the extra down just above his knees before tying it off.   
  


"Ah...ah,...al, almost....finished, buddy," the words fell out in awkward blocks as Ray fought with his emotions. A tee-shirt protected Fraser's ankles as Ray snugged the next bit of rope around them. Ray dove into the dwindling stack of ropes and brought out the last two he expected to need. Grabbing up a sweatsock, Ray carefully wrapped it around Fraser's left wrist and using an expertise borne of many hours spent restraining criminals, the detective secured the Mountie's hand to the cot. "Just one more," Ray said softly, "and we're good to go."   
  


Ray didn't dare look at his friend. He knew what he would see, but actually, really seeing it would deep six this whole enterprise. He didn't have to use his eyes to see how helpless Fraser looked. All the pain had somehow broken down the mature lines of the Mountie's face and made him look boyish and vulnerable. That was terrible enough. A mother bear protecting her cub couldn't feel any more protective than Stanley "Ray" Kowalski did at that very moment. Ray would go to his grave for this Mountie.   
  


More than that though was the trust and faith Ray saw reflected in Fraser's eyes. Fraser believed in Ray, simply and totally. Somehow, that was more unnerving than anything else. Ray always felt like a schmuck, a screw-up with all right skills and abilities who just got by. To have someone of Fraser's caliber, someone who Ray looked up to and respected, someone who almost everyone looked up to and respected, look at Ray with such utter faith was overwhelming. That's why Ray had to watch his own hands and not risk another glance at Fraser. "There. There. I gotta bring some stuff over. Hang on. It's gonna be okay. Really. Hang on."   
  


Ray darted into the kitchen area and gathered together the items he had laid out. With his free hand, he hooked a chair away from the table and positioned it by the cot to the right of the chair he would be using. "I'm almost ready, buddy. Hang on. Just a few more things to do."   
  


During his next foray, the detective grabbed a shallow pan for the alcohol and a couple more pans of water, just to have handy. He stacked the remaining clean towels and the clothes he was going to use for "mop up" in the gap between the chairs. "Where's that beautiful surgical nurse when you need her?" he wondered aloud, trying to sound aggrieved. Diefenbaker gave a soft woof. "No, Dief, you don't quite fit the ticket. I don't think wolf drool is all that hydrogenetic."   
  


"Hy...gen..ic." Fraser croaked automatically.   
  


"Yeah, whatever, you know, clean. Slobber just isn't like real sterile." 

Diefenbaker snorted and flopped on the far side of the cot.   
  


Ray bustled back to get the final two things. Using a pair of forks, he managed to retrieve the knife from the simmering water and placed it on the clean towel he had sitting nearby. The needle was a lot harder to scoop out, but fishing with determination, Ray captured it and added it to the towel. He couldn't think of anything else that he needed. 'Other than a fully staffed ER.'   
  


He took another look around the kitchen. 'Time to rock and roll,' Ray resigned himself to the inevitable. He scrubbed his hands with a strong abrasive soap that he figured Fraser had probably concocted out of bear fat and gravel. 'Ought to be clean enough,' the detective grumbled, 'probably took off a layer of skin.' Gathering up his towel bundle and the pot of hot water, he forced himself back to the cot. 'I've got my best friend trussed up like a chicken. Dear G-d, help us both,' Ray implored.   
  


"So, buddy, we are about to get this show on the road. I just have to kinda set these things up so I can reach everything and we are good to go. Dr. Ray is feeling good and ready to get this thing done." Ray forced an upbeat lilt into his voice and prayed Fraser didn't pick up on the false tones. "Now, since you don't happen to have any ether lying around the cabin or even a good bottle of whiskey, I'm gonna have to give you one of these to kinda bite on while....while, you know....," Ray brandished a chew stick in Fraser's line of vision. " I mean Dief swears by 'em and he has generously agreed to sacrifice one for you. Right, Dief?" The wolf barked an affirmative. "Well, see, there you go. Okay, uh, open your mouth and say, ahhh. Just kidding, but here." Still avoiding a direct look at his friend's face, Ray slipped the rawhide chew into Fraser's open mouth.   
  


Bob Fraser moved into his son's peripheral vision and Ben turned his head slightly to look at his father's specter. "Well, Son, it's time. You must be strong now and remember your training. It will all be over quite soon. I'll be right here with you, Benton." Fraser Sr. leaned down and tried to give his son a reassuring pat on the shoulder.   
  


"So, uh...uh, I guess...well, I'm ready, if you are. Look, Fraser," and Ray did finally meet his friend's eyes, "you know, there's no other way. I'd rather cut off my own arm than hurt you, but there's no option here. I gotta do this." Ray's emotions rollercoastered when he saw the Mountie's weak nod of understanding and acceptance of what was about to happen to him. Ray drew a shaky breath and used Fraser's quiet courage to shore up his own.   
  


"So, on with the show, buddy. Gotta get rid of this old bandage and see what's happening under there. You know, in a couple of days, you're going to be feeling so good, I'm gonna let you take care of old Mal's dogs. I mean, sheesh, I think they know I'm not like real good with animals or something. I mean, I'm not like afraid of them or anything. It's more like I'm not used to them and they can sense that." Ray babbled on about not having pets as a kid, hoping his senseless chatter would keep Fraser distracted. 'Maybe I can bore him into unconsciousness.' Ray didn't know whether to laugh about subjecting the Mountie to a Kowalski version of an Inuit story or cry because the distraction ploy was so pathetic.   
  


The exposed wound looked worse, very much worse. There was a widespread area of hot red swelling around it. A thin membrane was trying to grow over the open hole, but the pus and blood oozing from under it left no question that the wound was infected and that it had to be dealt with immediately. Ray felt his insides quake, but he resolutely re-dipped the knife blade in the pan of alcohol and stole a furtive peek at his patient. Fraser's head was pushed hard into his pillow with his eyes riveted on the cabin's ceiling and the chew stick gripped tightly in his teeth.   
  


'Dear G-d, I need some help here.' Ray tested the heft of the knife in his hand. 'It's now or never. Forgive me, Fraser.' "It's time, Fraser," Ray warned. He felt his friend's body try to jerk away from the bite of the knife as it sliced into the skin above and below the bullet hole. Fraser may have cried out, but the blood was pounding so loudly in Ray's ears that he couldn't hear anything except his own heartbeat magnified to head-shattering intensity. Ray stared as though through a haze at the knife in his hand and wondered at what he had just done. He noticed simultaneously that there was suddenly no air in the room. He couldn't breathe. All the air was just gone from the cabin, maybe the whole world. He opened his mouth wide and tried to suck some precious oxygen into his lungs.   
  


"Easy, Yank, easy. Get hold of yourself, man. It's all right. It's just a little blood. You've got to find that bullet. Focus. Concentrate on the task at hand." Bob Fraser spoke with the same forceful timbre he had used when drilling RCMP rookies.   
  


Ray struggled to drag in air. 'Breathe, Kowalski, breathe. Get a grip. You don't have time for this. You got a job to do and a friend depending on you. Cut the crap. There's plenty of air, you moron, just breathe regular like. Okay, that's better. See, lots of air.' Ray realized with a guilty start that Fraser's breathing was fast and hard from the pain. 'Get over it, Kowalski. You're torturing your friend with these hysterics,' Ray berated himself.   
  


The detective blotted at the fresh cut he had just made and forced himself to examine the wound more closely. He was hoping the bullet would be immediately visible, but it looked like he would need to open up that scabbing membrane more and probe deeper to find the lead that was making Fraser so sick.. 'Shit, I need more light.' Ray looked around frantically for his flashlight. 'Uh, it should be by my sleeping bag. Okay, a longshot, here....'   
  


"Dief...Dief....Dief, bring me the flashlight," the detective tried to rally the wolf. "The flashlight, I need the flashlight. Flash....light." Ray mentally shrugged; he'd muddle by without the extra light. After all, what did he expect? Diefenbaker was deaf.   
  


Ray turned his attention back to the more immediate problem. He used a corner of a clean, wet towel to wipe away the still oozing gook from the wound. 'Definitely need to make this bigger,' he thought with despair. He dipped the knife into the alcohol again and with a softly murmured "Sorry, Fraser," made a cross-wise cut across the wound. Ray was acutely aware of Fraser's violent reaction to the latest incision, but the detective steeled himself against his friend's misery and focused on finding that bullet.   
  


"It's going to be all right, Son. It will be over soon. You're doing fine, Benton. I know it hurts like the dickens, but it will be over soon." Bob Fraser wanted to offer his son more than words, but being dead had its limitations. His heart ached as he watched Benton struggling with the pain and biting down on that damn piece of rawhide. Ben was trying so hard to be quiet and not to distress the Yank. Fraser Sr. blinked back tears of pride. "You'll be able to sleep soon, Son. Everything will be all right."   
  


Ray was so intent on blotting away the new blood and pus that the detective almost jumped a foot when Diefenbaker's cold nose touched his arm. "Sheeeeit, Dief!!! What are you... Oh, the flashlight! Good boy. Wow. Good boy. This will help a lot." Ray eased the flashlight out of Dief's mouth using a clean sock from the pile of clothes by the chair. "It's that sterileness thing," he muttered by way of apology to the wolf. Snapping on the light, he renewed his cleaning of the wound. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could see the bullet resting dark and alien maybe two, maybe three inches or so deeper in the puncture. With total focus, Ray retrieved the knife from the alcohol and carefully slipped it into the incision. The Mountie's reaction was instantaneous and terrible. Ben surged up and fought hard against the restraints. The screamed "No!!!" that escaped around the rawhide chew almost stopped Ray's heart.   
  


"Oh, G-d. Oh, Fraser. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Wait. It's out. I took it out. It's okay, buddy. I didn't mean to hurt you like that. I shoulda warned ya. Damn, I'm sorry." Ray dropped the knife back in the pan and with a trembling hand snatched up a tee-shirt he had sitting in a pan of cold water. "Here, I'll wipe your face. The cool water will help." The detective wrung the excess water out of the shirt and delicately washed the sweat from his friend's forehead and cheeks. "Here, let me take that out of your mouth for a minute. Your jaw could use a rest, I'm sure." The chew stick had been worked over pretty good and Ray felt sick to his stomach, knowing what each of those bite marks represented. "We're getting close, Fraser. I can see the bullet," Ray prayed that was the truth. "I'll need to go a little bit deeper to get it, but it's practically a done deal. Just a little bit more, buddy. We're almost...."   
  


Ray broke off as the Mountie again arched hard against the ropes. Without the rawhide in his mouth to clamp down on, Ben couldn't contain the agonized cry that a sudden wave of burning pain forced out. His head thrashed from side to side and his eyes darted wildly as a series of spasms racked his weakened body. His hands grasped futilely at the air.   
  


"Fraser! Please...." Ray threw the wet shirt he had been holding behind him and grabbed his friend by the shoulders. "I've got you. It's okay. Oh, G-d, please. I'm here. I've got you. It's okay." He brought his hand to the side of Fraser's face and using his thumb, Ray stroked the pallid cheek. "Fraser, it's okay. You're going to be okay. It's going to be over soon. Easy, buddy. Easy." Ray's soothing words fell on deaf ears. The Mountie was finally and mercifully unconscious.   
  


"Thank G-d," Bob Fraser murmured.   
  


"Shit." Ray was a quivering mess. The horror of having caused Fraser that kind of pain was devastating. Ray slid back into his chair and tried to regroup. 'Okay, it's done. You can't change that. You have to get this finished. You don't want him suffering any more.' He dipped his hands back in the alcohol and picked up the knife. He stared at it for a few minutes before adjusting his grip and nosing the knife back into the wound. Even though he was out cold, Fraser moaned and reacted to this new assault on his body. Ray swallowed hard, but kept his attention focused on the bloody work in front of him.   
  


"That's right, Yank. Keep your mind set on what you're doing.. You have a job to do. Good man. Stay the course, Yank." Fraser Sr. counseled.   
  


After probing around for a bit, Ray was convinced that it was indeed the bullet he had spied earlier. The problem was how to get it out. He put the boot knife back in the pan and reached for the pocket knife he'd had the foresight to bring over with him. He dipped its blade in the still hot pot of water and then dropped the knife into the alcohol. Using a fresh, wet shirt, the detective cleaned away the gore seeping from the wound site. 'If I can work the bullet loose with the big knife, I might be able to work it up and out with the smaller knife,' he mulled over this approach and decided it had some promise.   
  


With both knives in hand, Ray used the boot knife to poke at the object he identified as the bullet. It definitely felt different than the surrounding flesh. "Shit. I need a third arm here. I can't see what I'm doing." Ray briefly considered holding the flashlight in his teeth, but realized that he would never be able to see around it. "Damn, Dief, I need that nurse." Ray dragged his free arm across his forehead and used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes. "Okay, steady as she goes." Ray worked the knife tip around the bullet and cut it away from the tissue in which it was embedded. When he felt it was free, he sat up straight for a minute and rolled his shoulders to unkink his back and shoulder muscles. Grabbing a shirt from the clothing pile, Ray rolled it up length-wise and draped it around the wound to absorb the now freely flowing blood   
  


'Maybe doctors are worth those outrageous fees they charge. This is tough work.' Ray sighed and bent back over Fraser's middle. Using the boot knife to pull the wound more open, he eased the second blade in and tried to work it under the bullet. There wasn't much room to maneuver and he soon discovered that he couldn't get any leverage with the small knife. "Damn it." Ray pulled both knives out and after a quick wipe on a clean cloth, laid them back in the alcohol. "I really need tweezers or tongs or something like that," he growled in frustration.   
  


"That's a problem," Bob Fraser affirmed. "I don't think Benton has anything like that stashed around here. Maybe you could try working both knives together like tongs. Yes, I believe that might work."   
  


Ray stood up for a moment and stretched out his arms and legs. A couple of quick twists helped to loosen the tightness in his back. He plunked back down. "Okay, let's try this again. I know I can do this. I'll use the two knives like chopsticks. The bullet should be misshapen enough to get a good grip," he reasoned. After a quick mop up and another look-see with the flashlight, Ray set his jaw and picked up the knives.   
  


"We're so close now, Fraser. We're almost done here." Just saying it out loud helped calm the would-be surgeon. Ray balanced the knives in his hands and once again slipped them, one after the other, into the incision. He was working blind, but he could tell when he had the bullet wedged between both knife blades. 'Okay, up and out. Up and out. Easy. Easssssssy.'   
  


"Damn it! Damn it to hell!" Uneven pressure on the pen knife had caused the lead to squirt out and fall back into its original position. "Okay, okay, not a big deal. Just pay attention and try it again." Ray snatched up another cotton tee-shirt and rolling it into three length-wise folds, he replaced the mostly saturated one. This time, Ray could actually see the bullet as he raised it up, but a slight adjustment in the angle of his wrist made the lead once again disappear back into the wound. "Shit!!"   
  


"Easy, Yank. Keep a cool head. Uncontrolled emotions will just make it harder to do your duty," Bob Fraser lectured.   
  


'Wish I knew that yogi stuff so I could totally relax and "become one" with this surgery thing.' With one hand, Ray used the edge of a damp shirt to wipe his face. After repositioning the tee- shirt ringing the wound, he gave a deep sigh and bent back to try working the knives like a set of pincers. The same thing happened again! 'What happened to third time's the charm?' he thought with a scowl. Stubbornness had set in though and with teeth clenched, Ray made a fourth attempt with the same result. "Damn it. Shit." His cursing reflected more fatigue than heat. "Come on, come on. I can do this. This is for Fraser."   
  


With his arms and hands bent in awkward positions, the detective focused on manipulating the knives to catch and hold the bullet. 'Slow...ly....easy, easy.' Ray was afraid to even breathe. Finally, both the knives and the grotesque lump of lead they cradled cleared the edge of the wound. With exaggerated care, Ray put all three items in the pan of alcohol.   
  


He thought the alcohol had clouded over and was making it difficult to see the offending bullet; until he felt the first tear sliding down his cheek. His emotions were seesawing. He was relieved and triumphant, awed that he had done the surgery, but alternately horrified and above all still very scared that his best friend could die. Ray lowered his head into his hands.   
  


"Yank! You have things to do yet. You need to sterilize the wound \- now. You have to bandage the incision," Bob Fraser admonished.   
  


Ray's head snapped up. 'Wha.....? Who....? What am I doing? G-d, I can't leave Fraser lying here tied up and bleeding.' The detective palmed the tears off his cheeks and wiped his eyes. He shook off his mental fatigue. First of all, he had to wash out the wound.   
  


The alcohol was getting very low so he needed to be conservative with it. Taking a small pot of water he had boiled earlier and testing it to be sure it had cooled enough, Ray poured a small amount of water into the bullet hole. The still unconscious Mountie made a soft sighing sound. "Feels a lot better than a knife, huh, buddy?" Ray used another clean shirt to mop up the resulting mess. Pour, mop. Pour, mop. Pour, mop. Satisfied at last that the wound was as clean and dry as possible, he funneled a little bit of alcohol into the incision. After slathering the antiseptic goop around the surrounding area, he tried to gently push the edges of the wound together and then quickly covered everything with several of the clean sheet strips. Ray sat up and stared at the stark white bandaging. The sense of accomplishment was a heady experience. "It's over. We made it, Fraser. It's all downhill from here," Ray whispered as he leaned back over to touch his friend's cheek.   
  


"Good job, Yank. Had a few questionable moments, but overall, well done," Bob Fraser praised.   
  


Ray wondered belatedly if he should have tried to stitch the wound closed. It made his stomach turn, but he had to consider it. Thinking back to fellow police officers who had been shot, he seemed to remember something about the punctures having to drain. That made sense so he relaxed and with a feeling of elation, started untying Fraser's restraints. It seemed kindest to start at his hands. Ray knew from experience that having your hands tied up made you feel the most helpless. Lifting the Mountie's limp right arm, Ray was relieved to see that the sweat socks had protected Fraser's wrists from the bite of the ropes. "Everything's going to be okay now. It's over, buddy," Ray repeated. He gave Fraser's arm an affectionate squeeze and quickly untied and unwrapped the rest of the bindings. 

"Dief, how about we call room service and order us up a maid?" The place was a mess, even by bachelor standards, and it would certainly offend the Mountie when he woke up. "No rest for the weary," Ray lamented and shook his head as he looked at the bloodied towels and clothes strewn around the cot. He supposed he should consider washing at least the towels for later use, but there was no way in hell he could ever wear a tee shirt or sweatpants stained with Fraser's blood and suffering. The detective grimaced as he bundled together the trashed clothes, careful not to touch any of the gored areas. He used his foot to kick the towels into the kitchen area. He would deal with those later.   
  


"That's good, Yank. Being tidy is a virtue. A man doesn't function well in a chaotic setting. Clutter and disorder cloud the thinking," Bob Fraser pontificated.   
  


When he stepped outside with the stained clothing, Ray was surprised to see there was still early morning light slanting through the trees. It felt like the "operation" had taken hours. His muscles felt bruised and achy like he had just gone several rounds with Evander Holyfield. G-d, he was tired. In his punch drunk brain, Ray had gone out intending to throw the dirty stuff into the dumpster, but gosh, 'I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto.' He laughed to himself; he was getting giddy. He tossed the clothing over the side of the porch and went back into the cabin to finish cleaning up. Leaning over his patient, he placed his hand lightly on the Mountie's chest. The gentle rise and fall of Fraser's breathing was comforting. "You'll get better now, buddy. Everything will be right as rain again."   
  


The last thing Ray picked up and carted into the kitchen was the alcohol pan with the knives and bullet still submerged in it. He took out the knives and carefully poured the now pink-tinged alcohol down the drain until only the bullet remained rattling in the bottom of the pan. He was mesmerized by that hateful, monstrous lump. It was shocking that such a small bit of lead could have such huge repercussions. 'How can something so insignificant almost snuff out a man like Fraser? Go figure.' Ray's head was too foggy to try fathoming deep philosophical questions at the moment. It was enough that Fraser was still alive and breathing.   
  


Ray left the pan in the sink and almost staggered on his way back to Fraser. As he bent to check his friend's condition, he realized with horror that Fraser was lying in a puddle of blood that had seeped under him during the operation. Ray collapsed into the cot-side chair. "Oh, man. Oh, man. I can't leave you lying in that crap. Damn." He ran his hands back and forth through his hair and considered the best way to deal with this situation.   
  


"Okay, buddy, you're going to have to go back on the floor. The cot is too trashed right now. And you're going to hate this, but I'm going to have to get you into some dry pants, too. It'll be good. All right, let's get it done." Ray, didn't exactly leap to his feet, but he was able to muster up some reserve energy and used it to start making a nice cushiony nest for Fraser. The detective was having a little trouble connecting the dots in the right order though. Get Fraser into the bed, then change his clothes or change the pants first so he won't wreck the bed? Wait, wouldn't they get yucky if they were changed first?' Ray felt like his brain was melting down. "Logic is Fraser's thing, not mine," he protested to Diefenbaker who had wandered over to observe the action.   
  


"It seems simple enough, " Bob Fraser concluded. "Get Benton on the floor first, on a nice sheet or something, change him into some dry gear and then shift him into the bedding. Honestly, Yank, what do they teach you in that police school of yours?"   
  


"Okay, okay, I got it. Whew, tough day, you know." Ray shrugged at Dief. The detective plucked a mostly clean sheet from his reserve pile and spread it out away from the damp floorboards around the cot. "Okay, big guy, it's your turn." Ray stopped and frowned. The Mountie was a big guy. While only slightly taller than Ray, Fraser was much bulkier and as dead weight would be quite an armful to try lowering to the ground. The detective had to be careful, too, not to jar the incision area. "Damn. No more french fries for you," Ray decided.   
  


There was no way Ray could just pick Fraser up so he shifted the Mountie's legs off the cot as far as possible and then grasping him under the arms, Ray lifted his friend's upper torso up and over the edge of the bed which tipped over in the process. It required a little bit of dragging, but Ray was finally able to lay Ben down on the sheet. "No more oatmeal either. Just rabbit food," Ray grunted.   
  


Fraser's right hand clenched and he moaned weakly, but he didn't seem to be waking up. "I know, buddy, it's been awful, but you're going to be all right now." Ray smoothed Fraser's hair back from his forehead. "Yep, you're going to be all right."   
  


The detective found a clean pair of sweats and socks in the Mountie's gear and prepared to make the big switch. Ray couldn't suppress a weary smile. Fraser would, no doubt, be horrified, but Ray was not about to try wrangling his friend into those goofy RCMP issue under shorts. 'Take a walk on the wild side, Fraser, old buddy.'   
  


Getting the stained, wet stuff off was relatively easy. 'Oops, gotta clean you up a bit.' Ray stumbled to his feet and collected a clean sock and a pan of warm water. Kneeling once more beside Fraser, Ray used soft, easy strokes to rub away the bloody traces staining the Mountie's pale skin. Ray couldn't help but feel a little bit awkward as he touched his friend in this semi- intimate way. 'Oh, what the hell, I am the doctor after all,' the detective thought defensively. At last, Fraser was decked out in clean, dry pants and some fresh socks.   
  


Finally, with a combination of hitching and dragging, Fraser was settled into the bed that Ray had put together for him. It was over. As Ray pulled the blanket up over the bandaged area and tucked it up under Fraser's chin, the enormity of the morning's events and his own roiling emotions blindsided the exhausted detective. He sat back on his butt and pulled his legs in tight to his body. "Oh, Fraser," Ray managed to choke out before the tears started again in earnest. If he had the strength and if it had mattered, he would have argued that there was no shame in crying for a friend. He wrapped his arms around his legs and putting his head on his knees, Ray just let the tears cleanse his soul.   
  


Bob Fraser blinked rapidly to clear his own watery eyes. "Americans are such an emotional people. No wonder they keep Benton so busy with their problems. All that passion flying around." Bob snorted.   
  


The senior Fraser drifted over to the window and surveyed the scene outside. "Still, Benton's lucky to have a good friend and partner like the Yank." Bob thought back to his own days in harness with Buck Frobisher and lost himself in the memories of those good, old times. Some time later, Bob was startled out of his reverie by a strange noise behind him. 'Benton!' Fraser Sr. turned to rush to his son's side, but instead, stopped and stared at the tableau in front of him. His son was still flat on his back in the clutter of blankets and sleeping bags that served as his bed, but now the American was curled up on his side beside Benton. Ray was sound asleep, lying on the bare floor, clutching Benton's hand to his chest. Diefenbaker was wedged between the two men in a guard position. "Poor Yank's exhausted," Bob clucked with affection. He understood the noise he had heard earlier was in fact the American's ragged snoring. "Yes, Benton, a good friend is like a good horse and will carry you through all manner of troubles."   
  


Ray wasn't sure what woke him up. He didn't remember falling asleep so he was more than a little disoriented when he opened his eyes. He found himself staring at Fraser's gaunt, ashen profile and for a heart-stopping moment, Ray thought it was the Mountie's corpse lying next to him. "Fras....," the detective choked in distress. Ray realized slowly that he was holding his friend's hand in a death grip and that Fraser was feebly trying to pull away from the crushing hold. Ray almost collapsed with relief. 'Fraser's alive! He's okay.'   
  


Loosening his grasp, but continuing to hold Fraser's hand, the detective scrambled to his knees to check his friend's condition. Ray's mouth went dry as he took in Ben's appearance. 'Shit, okay may be a relative term here.' In truth, the Mountie looked worse than before the operating ordeal. A heavy sheen of perspiration covered his face and bared upper torso. If possible, he looked even more ghost-like than he had when Ray first found him. The blanket that had been so carefully tucked around Fraser was lying in a sodden pile across his thighs. Evidently, it had been Fraser's fevered thrashing that jolted Ray back into wakefulness.   
  


"Oh, buddy, this was supposed to help you. You're supposed to be getting better now." Disappointment and fear lay heavy in Ray's voice. He forced himself to let go of the Mountie's hand. Pushing himself to his feet, Ray moved stiffly into the kitchen area. "Sleeping on a cold, hard floor was not a good thing," he muttered as he stretched and twisted to relieve his tight muscles. He ran some fresh water in a pot and scrounged up another clean tee shirt.   
  


Kneeling once again beside his friend, Ray used the cool, wet shirt to sponge the sweat off Fraser's body. "Really, you're going to be all right. I mean, you just went through a kinda major operation and everybody feels pretty bad right after something like that and I guess you need a little more time to get kinda back together. Yeah, you gotta figure, no one just like gets up and starts doing a jig after something like this." Ray kept a constant line of patter directed at his patient.   
  


As the detective moved the freshly dampened cloth around Ben's mouth, the Mountie suddenly gasped and opened his eyes. "Whoa, hey, you startled me, buddy. Welcome back," Ray beamed. He leaned over to move into Fraser's range of vision. "What can I get ya?" Fraser just stared. His normally bright blue eyes looked dull and unfocused. Ray nudged the pale cheek, "Fraser? You with me, buddy?" With a soft moan, Ben's eyes closed and his head sagged away from Ray's touch. Panicked, the detective used two fingers to probe the Mountie's neck for a carotid pulse. 'Come on, come on, where is it? Come on, Fraser, where....uh, wait, I got it! It's there! Fraser, don't be doing things like that. You just scared the liver outta me.' Ray sat back on his heels and focused on taking long, even breaths.   
  


"It's okay, Yank. A little set-back after surgery is to be expected. Benton is tough. He'll come through this just fine. It's in his nature to persevere." Bob Fraser's confident smile wavered only a little bit. "You'll see. Benton will be fine."   
  


'This is normal. This is to be expected. He's really gonna be okay.' Ray rotated his shoulders to relieve the cramping in his upper body and looked around for the cloth he had dropped in his panic. Rewetting it, he tenderly bathed Fraser's hot skin. "You're gonna be all right, buddy. I'm gonna take good care of you. You just rest and get better. Dr. Ray will take care of everything else." Beside him, Diefenbaker gave a soft woof of approval. Behind him, Fraser Sr. nodded in agreement.   
  


"There, that should feel better." Ray tossed the damp tee shirt into the pot of water and grabbed a dry blanket. "I know you're real hot right now, but we can't risk you getting chilled," he said. He tucked in the blanket edges to cocoon Fraser in its protective warmth. 'G-d, he looks so awful. He doesn't even look like Fraser,' Ray thought with a pang. Once again, he wanted to lash out at someone or something. His hands fisted in anger. The Mountie groaned, moving fitfully, trying to push away the covering. Immediately, Ray relaxed his hand and rested it on the side of the Fraser's face. With a low moan, Fraser pressed his cheek into the detective's palm and quieted. "Oh, buddy, I'm here, I'm here."   
  


No way was Ray going to move and break the precious contact. He was absurdly pleased his touch could bring Fraser that little bit of comfort, but after a few minutes, the Mountie gasped and flopped his head to the other side. In obvious pain, he struggled against the confining blanket, his mouth twisting with soundless cries. Hovering anxiously, Ray resettled his hand on Ben's face and with a slight sigh, Fraser became still once more. Ray let out the breath, he didn't know he was holding.   
  


A tiny shift change in his position made Ray realize he couldn't feel his legs from his knees down. He didn't know exactly how long he had been kneeling, but he did know he had to get up before his legs turned to cement under him. Even then, he waited, ignoring the prickly discomfort until he was sure Fraser was resting as comfortably as possible. Getting up was no easy chore and at one heart-stopping juncture, Ray almost toppled over onto his patient. "Whoa, I'm as graceful as Frankenstein in his first ballet class," he conceded as he lurched towards the kitchen.   
  


"Hey, Dief....,"Ray stopped. He was about to inform the wolf that growling for food was rude, when it registered that it was his own stomach making the racket. How could he possibly eat? All he could think about was Fraser. Besides, Ray's stomach felt too tight and hard from tension to accept any food. 'I guess I should grab something though. It may not be a good time later.' He halfheartedly pulled open a few cupboards and poked through the foodstuffs stashed around the kitchen.   
  


"You do need to eat, Yank. How can you take care of Benton, if you don't take care of yourself? There's a lot of truth to the saying, armies run on their stomachs. It's important that you stay strong." Bob Fraser urged from behind Ray's left shoulder.   
  


"Yeah, okay, I won't be doing Fraser any good if I keel over. I need to keep my energy revved up and that means fuel. But, no more oatmeal," the detective pledged.   
  


"You're really spoiled, you know," Ray scolded as he handed Diefenbaker a wolf-sized chunk of ham. "I wouldn't be doing this except yer probably depressed about Fraser. And don't think doing that pitiful, doggie-eyed thing is going to work next time either. I know yer just scamming. Okay, okay, stop yer whining, here's another piece. Sheesh." Ray washed his hands and finished building himself a good sized ham and cheese sandwich. Hunching protectively over it to, literally, keep the wolf at bay, he carried it back to Fraser's bedside. "Forget it, Dief, this is mine."   
  


One look at his friend, though, and Ray lost what little appetite he had. He felt guilty for doing something as normal as eating while Fraser lay lost in unthinkable pain. 'It's fuel,' Ray reminded himself. 'It's fuel. Strength. Fraser needs me.' Even so, he could only manage to choke down about half of the sandwich. "Here, Dief, you win. Yowza, watch the fingers, they're not part of the deal," Ray yipped. "So what about this "man's best friend, loyal companion business"? Your appetite doesn't seem to be affected by all this," Ray said pointedly. The wolf turned a deaf ear and finished slurping up Ray's offering. "Dogs, I'm telling ya....what a life."   
  


Ray cleaned up his food mess and took the empty plate back to the kitchen. 'I should go feed Malcolm's dogs and let them run for a bit,' he thought without enthusiasm, 'but, damn, I don't want to leave Fraser.' He was torn. A little bark from Diefenbaker solved the problem. " Yeah, yeah....Dief, you stay with Fraser. You watch him, okay? I gotta go feed your furry friends. I'll be back in a couple of shakes. Let me know if something happens. Okay?" Ray shook his head with amused disbelief. 'Geez, I'm making deals with a dog.'   
  


"It's okay, Yank. I'll keep an eye on things for you. Benton will be all right for a few minutes." Bob Fraser promised.   
  


The detective practically threw the food at the dogs. Thankfully, the water level was fine and didn't need replenishing for a while. Ray decided he would exercise the dogs later. He detoured long enough to collect an armload of wood to use in the evening. Dropping the firewood by the stove and grabbing some more bedding, Ray hurried back to Fraser's side.   
  


"Thanks, Dief." Ray knelt down and lightly squeezed Fraser's shoulder through the blanket. "I'm back, buddy and I'm gonna be right here if you need anything. Right here." Ray fussed with the sleeping bag and pillow he had brought, arranging them so that he could keep his vigil in relative comfort. Once he was settled, Ray leaned reached over and put his hand over Fraser's heart. Even through the covers, Ray was sure he could feel the Mountie's heartbeat and that gave Ray a great sense of peace. He had the irrational fear that Fraser would just go poof and vanish if Ray wasn't here to guard him. The detective half-smiled at his foolishness and leaned back against his pillow.   
  


"Hey, Fraser, remember that case when....." Ray rehashed several of the more notable cases he and Fraser had tackled, adding colorful personal anecdotes to the accounts. At several points, Dief whined and cocked his head. "Yeah, okay so I'm stretching a little here. It's what you call, ah, police license. Don't be such a critic. Geez." Ray tried singing for a while, but judging from the wolf's expression, it wasn't being well received. "Now you're a music critic. How? You're supposedly deaf."   
  


"Quite frankly, Yank, the wolf has a point. I don't think you're catching the right key here. Listen," Bob Fraser commanded as he started humming and then singing.   
  


Ray was tired of hearing his own voice anyway. Rubbing a little circle on Fraser's blanketed shoulder, the detective started imagining different scenarios of Fraser waking up. In all of them, Fraser woke up feeling one hundred percent better and was very impressed that Ray handled the operation and recovery so competently. The dialog changed somewhat in each version as Ray mentally fine-tuned his remarks, but the picture of Fraser healing so well and the idea that he was proud of Ray and his efforts, gave the detective a warm, fuzzy feeling. He was so wrapped up in his happy fantasies, that when Fraser woke up for real, it was shattering.   
  


The Mountie suddenly arched up under Ray's hand and with a hoarse, pain-filled cry, thrust the blanket away. Before Ray could react, Ben rolled away from him and doubled up, gasping and shaking violently. Each half-formed cry of hurt, stabbed at Ray like an icepick. The detective scrambled around to the other side of his friend and tried to comfort him through voice and touch. "Fraser, easy, buddy. I'm right here. Easy." Ray frantically reached for Fraser and tried to hold onto him and give him reassuring pats, but the Mountie's distress was too great. He thrashed, he shuddered, he groaned, he panted, he broke Ray's heart.   
  


Bob Fraser watched helplessly as the two men wrestled with Benton's suffering. "It'll be over soon, Son. The pain will pass. You'll be all right, Son."   
  


'My G-d, what have I done to him?,' Ray thought in despair. 'I've made everything worse.' As Ray touched the side of Fraser's face, Ben turned his head and stared in confusion at his friend. The Mountie's blue eyes, darkened with pain, begged Ray for help. "Oh, Frase...," the detective managed to get out before his throat closed to the point where only the tiniest amount of air could get in and out. Ray coughed and tried to speak again, but breathing seemed more important. 'Come on, just suck it up and help him!'   
  


Slipping back behind Fraser, Ray wrapped his arms around his partner and gently held him as Ben shivered and moaned in anguish. Ray could never have said how long he cradled Fraser's tormented body. When the Mountie's exhaustion finally gave way to total unconsciousness, Ray felt the change instantly. Fraser seemed to just dissolve within Ray's arms. For one chilling instant, a savage fear knifed through the detective's heart. 'No!! You can't die. Don't leave me, buddy. Oh, man, hang on, Fraser.' A dark panic pinballed through Ray's head. In his moment of denial, Ray hugged Ben tighter. It was Fraser's weak groan that brought his friend back to reality.   
  


"OhshitI'msorryI'msorryIdidn'tmeanto......," Ray's jumbled words trailed off.   
  


'I just keep on hurting him. He'll be lucky if he survives me,' he thought morosely, as he tried to rearrange his partner's limp form into a more comfortable position. Ray shook his head in disgust. Shifting his weight slightly, he settled Fraser's head high against his chest. Ray bent his own head and rested his cheek against Ben's thick hair. "I'm just gonna hold you for a while, buddy. Uh, not too tight, I promise. Just to kinda let you know you're safe and that I'm here. You can relax and get better."   
  


In truth, the detective needed the physical connection himself. By holding Ben this way, Ray was convinced he could fight off whatever form of death appeared. He would fight hard and pull Fraser away from that gaping abyss. Ray would keep his friend safe, as promised. The detective closed his eyes seeing the victory clearly as it unreeled in flashing scenes through his head. "This is a fight I won't lose," Ray vowed with an involuntary yawn.   
  


"That's good, Yank. That's good." Bob Fraser smiled and swiped a rough knuckle across his watery eyes. "Uh, think I'll go check the dogs or something," he mumbled and turned on his heels.   
  


The last of the sun's dying light had crawled to the edges of the cabin leaving the two friends in deep shadow. "Ag.....fi...fi..re,....ho...t," Fraser's splintered voice was barely audible, but his head banged hard against Ray and jolted the detective into full wakefulness.   
  


"Easy, buddy, easy," Ray soothed, flexing his cramped muscles and trying to lever Fraser into a better position. "Sssh, I'm here, don't try to talk. Just rest, I'm here."   
  


"Ho........t," the Mountie protested, distress giving force to his voice.   
  


"Yeah, it's okay. I'll get you cooled down in just a minute. Here, let me help you lie down flat. That will feel better. Easy, eas...y. There. That's better, isn't it?" Ray groped for a pillow to push under Fraser's head. As the detective slipped his hand to the back of Ben's head to raise it for the cushion, Ray felt the unmistakable heat of fever under his hand. Fraser was burning up. 'Shit!,' he screamed to himself. 'Shit, shit, shit.'   
  


Pitching his voice to convey maximum comfort, Ray said softly, "I'll get some nice cool water. No. Easy, buddy. The water will make you feel better. Try to lie still."   
  


"So.....ho...t," Ben fretted.   
  


"I know, buddy, I'm gonna fix you right up. You'll be okay." Ray was on his feet and moving toward the kitchen. "Hang on, Fraser, I'm getting the water. It's gonna be okay," he called over his shoulder. "You're gonna feel better in two shakes."   
  


"The Yank's going to take care of you, Son. Stay strong, Benton." Bob Fraser directed.   
  


Quickly filling a pot and grabbing what he thought he remembered as being a clean rag, Ray hurried back to his partner. 'Shit, I can't see a thing,' he thought with exasperation. 'Matches, where the hell did I leave the matches for the lanterns?' As he grabbed one lantern off the table, he felt it bump against the match box. He whispered a quick thank you and fumbled blindly to light the lamp. Not waiting to adjust the wick, he swung the lantern to the floor and knelt by Fraser's side.   
  


'G-d.' Ray sat paralyzed as looked at his friend. In the dim light, it looked like Fraser had collapsed in on himself. The once robust Mountie now looked shrunken and fragile. Hot skin pulled taut against his bones. His mouth was moving brokenly, no longer able to push his fractured words out. His eyes were open, but seemingly unfocused and too dry to reflect any of the lantern's feeble light.   
  


"Oh, Frase...r," the sob tore loose from Ray's throat and echoed off the cabin walls. Somehow, Death had found them after all. Ray had not been vigilant enough. 'Oh, G-d, help us!'   
  


"He needs to be hydrated, Yank. Get that fever down." Bob Fraser barked.   
  


"No!" Ray screamed. "You're not taking him. Not on my watch. No way." Wringing out the cloth, Ray started bathing the tender skin. "Hang on, buddy. Please. You gotta fight this."   
  


Over and over, Ray washed away the sweat until he needed to add more water and clean the rag. "I'll be right back. Hang tough, buddy. Don't you go anywhere." He laid his hand on Fraser's cheek hoping to feel Fraser turn into his touch. The Mountie lay passive and unresponsive. 'Doesn't matter. We're going to beat this,' Ray thought fiercely as he stumbled toward the sink. "I'm with you, buddy. Just getting some things."   
  


Refilling the pot, Ray realized that he needed to get water into Fraser, not merely on him. Snagging a metal cup from its under-the-shelf hanger, Ray filled that, too, and carried everything back to his partner. "I'm right here, buddy. I need you to drink some water. It's really important." The Mountie didn't seem to hear him. "Come on, buddy. You gotta do this, Fraser," Ray crooned as he lifted Ben's head up with one arm and eased the cup to his mouth. Ray sighed with relief as the Mountie's cracked, dried lips sucked greedily at the water. "Whoa, there. Whoa. Not too much at first. You do need to drink a lot, but you have to be careful. Whoa." Ray was afraid to give him more than half a cup to start with. Fraser had almost choked in his eagerness to get the water.   
  


Despite the recent bathing, the sweat again shone thick on Fraser's skin. Ray grabbed his rag and started wiping away the fever's sticky residue. "Come on, buddy, work with me here. You gotta beat this." Soon Ray's jaw ached from his continued pleas to Ben to fight the sickness, but the detective kept the patter going and tried to rally his friend. "You're a Mountie. You're strong."   
  


"He's right, Son," Fraser, Sr. agreed. "Mounties go against incredible odds and win. You must win, Benton." Bob Fraser directed a grateful smile at Ray. The Yank's devotion to Benton's care was heroic.   
  


As nightfall came, the little cabin got quite cold. Ray never faltered. He worked on despite the intense chill, continually dipping his rapidly chapping hands in the cold water to re-wet the rag. His voice, rusted from lack of fluids, ground on trying to talk Ben back from the terrible darkness.   
  


"Thank you, Yank. You're a good friend and a good partner. My son is a lucky man," Bob Fraser pronounced. He turned to stare out the window and tried to think of better times.   
  


Into the second hour, Ray realized he had to change his strategy. No matter how many times he bathed Fraser with the cold water, within minutes the Mountie's skin was once more slick with sweat. The fever's fire was consuming Fraser's precious fluids. Ray gnawed his lower lip. 'He's burning up from the inside out. I have to get this fever down fast.' The detective paused to push a wet lock of hair off Ben's forehead. Beneath Ray's hand, the Mountie moved sluggishly, still in the grip of unspeakable hurting, but too sick and weak to react any more. "Oh, buddy, what are we going to do?" Ray could feel fear's thorny pinch prickling at his spine. He gave a violent shiver and realized with surprise that he was cold. 'I need to get Fraser cooled down like that,' he thought in desperation.   
  


"Wait. Wait. What's wrong with me? We're in the flippin arctic. We got a giant refrigerator outside cranking out ice cubes." Ray scrambled to his feet. "I need someth.....ah, ha," he exclaimed as he snatched up his backpack and dumped his few remaining clean clothes onto the 

floor. "Back in a flash, buddy," he assured Fraser. Dashing through the door, Ray skidded down the icy steps and started scooping handfuls of snow into the pack. "The cabin's cold enough, this should last at least a little while," he decided. At the top of the porch steps, he noticed icicles glinting from the eaves. "Perfect." Ray broke off several large ones and stuck them into the snow- filled pack.   
  


"I'm back, buddy. I've got the ticket," he huffed as he knelt by Fraser's side. Pushing aside covers and clothing, Ray tucked an icicle along each side of Ben, between torso and arm. A third icicle was positioned along the outside of Fraser's left leg. "It's snow time," Ray said in a giddy rush. He packed handfuls of the white stuff around his friend's head and shoulders. The detective thought fleetingly of pneumonia, but the fever was the critical problem. It had to get broken and get broken fast. He used both hands to make a blanket of snow on Ben's upper chest.   
  


Ray worried about the wound site getting wet. 'Plastic. I need some plastic.' The detective made a quick raid into the kitchen. "Anything will do.....," he puzzled for a few minutes, his eyes roving the open cupboards and counters. 'Bread!' he thought and pried open the mouse-proof tin container. He fumbled the twist tie off the wrapper and flung the bread upon the counter. Ripping the bag as he went, Ray fashioned a double-folded protective covering which he placed over Fraser's bandaging. For extra protection, the detective added a towel and tee shirt to the layering. "More snow," he announced as he raced out the door again. In a short time, Fraser lay buried to his neck in snow. Beside him, Ray knelt panting from all the exertion, but with rag in hand, he patiently patted cold water onto Ben's forehead and cheeks. "It's gonna be all right now. We're just about there. You're gonna be feeling better real quick now." Ray's voice crackled with exhaustion. "We're gonna make it, buddy." Ray picked up the nearby cup. "Here, sip some of this water. You need something for your insides, too. We're gonna make it, Fraser."   
  


The night blurred on, an endless loop of sacrifices for Ray, but ones he made without a thought. Sleep, food, warmth were not important. Fraser needed help. Fraser needed him. The detective would do whatever it took to help his friend. The Mountie was a major part of Ray's life now and he couldn't and wouldn't imagine it otherwise. "Love you like a brother, Fraser.....love you." 

By dawn, Ray was moving like a robot. Kneeling, standing, back and forth, up and down, hauling, packing, mopping, patting. His hands ached from the constant exposure to snow and semi-freezing 

water and his body felt like it had been pummeled by some vengeful thug. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except saving Fraser's life. Ray wrung out the wash rag and moved it gently over his friend's face.   
  


"Stay strong, Yank. You're doing an exemplary job here," Bob Fraser praised. "Har...umph, um..... your lieutenant would be proud."   
  


As morning inched on towards noon, the repetition of his movements rocked Ray into a dozy state. 

He was literally asleep on his knees. Even so, eyes closed, he babbled hopeful words. Half dreaming, he was so out of it that he almost missed it.   
  


"Co....ld," Fraser whispered, his voice scarcely scratching the air.   
  


"It's all right, you're going to be all right," Ray said, automatically lapsing into his reassuring mode. "I'm here. You're gonna be all right. I'll......, huh?" With enormous effort, Ray forced his eyes open. "Fraser?" Ray blinked several times just to be sure.   
  


The Mountie was awake. He looked awful, but his eyes were open and he had spoken! Ray carefully laid his trembling hand on Fraser's forehead. Though it was warm to the touch, it was not hot. The fever was most decidedly down. "All right, all right," Ray sputtered. "Your fever's almost gone!"   
  


"Col....ddd." Fraser insisted.   
  


"Oh, yeah, I guess so." Ray noticed a slight blue tinge to Fraser's lips. "Yeah, buddy, let's get you somewhere warm and dry."   
  


Mindful of the wound site, the detective used a corner of wet blanket to push the snow off Ben's upper torso. The puckered white skin reminded Ray of fish underbellies and made him unaccountably sad. "You'll be warm in a jiff, Fraser," Ray murmured. "Just gotta brush most of this snow off and then move ya away from the wet spot." 

"Co....llll...," the Mountie moaned.   
  


"I know, buddy, just a few more minutes," Ray countered, brushing away snow with one hand and 

using the other hand to salvage dry bedding. Ray's bed stuff had been far enough away to escape the icy puddling and would serve as the basis for the Mountie's new "nest". 'Shit,' Ray thought, 'Fraser's sweats are soaking wet again. Maybe, if I get a fire going.......no, I'll just have to find some more dry ones. Shit. But, first......,' Ray grunted as he rummaged through the pile of miscellaneous clothes and coverings trying to find enough to add to the meager bedding. It looked inadequate, but it was dry. Ray grabbed a half damp towel and used it to gently dry Ben's chest and stomach.   
  


Fraser made a small sound and shivered.   
  


"I know, buddy, I know," Ray comforted and slipped one hand to the side of Fraser's neck. Ray's fingers automatically sought the reassuring pulse of the carotid artery. "We're making progress. It should be easy, ah...sledding, that's Mountie talk. I'm learning. You're gonna be all right now."   
  


Ray jumped when Diefenbaker gave a sharp bark. "Yowza, dog, what's up with you?" Ray exclaimed. "Ya just gave me heart failure," he finished weakly. He patted Fraser's shoulder in case the sudden jerk had disturbed Ben.   
  


"Looks like we've got some company coming," Bob Fraser announced from his position by the kitchen window. "Can't tell for sure, but it looks like.....yes, that's an RCMP unit, I'm sure. The calvary is here, Yank!"   
  


"Is something out there, Dief?" Ray asked. The wolf was at the door whining urgently. 'Something's got his attention.' The detective considered the possibilities. 'Would a bear bother a cabin? Shit, there's bloody clothes and stuff lying out there!' Ray's thoughts took a panicked turn. 'Probably got the whole bear clan out there.' He leaped to his feet and sprinted for the rifle leaning against the front wall.   
  


"Easy, Yank. You don't usually greet people in the north by thrusting a gun in their face. I trust you'll look before you start shooting," Bob Fraser chided.   
  


Ray checked the rifle's load and sidled up to the kitchen window. A cautious peek and a duck back revealed nothing out of the ordinary. No large, furry beasts were storming the cabin or having a feeding frenzy with the bloodied clothing. 'Wha.....? Wait, there....over there!' Ray pressed his face against the window and blinked his bloodshot eyes a few times to clear them. 'That's a dog sled! There's red people in it! Look, there's another one!'   
  


"Hot diggity, Dief, the Mounties are coming! Fraser, the Mounties are coming!" Ray was screaming. Dropping the rifle, he wrenched open the door and jumped onto the porch. The glaring sun made his eyes tear. Blinking madly, he hopped up and down and waved his arms. "What to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sled and men in red gear," he recited crazily.   
  


"That's a beautiful sight. Look at the synchronization, Yank. Man and beast working together....," Bob Fraser rhapsodized.   
  


Satisfied that the sleds were heading for the cabin, Ray ran back inside to check on Fraser. The detective dropped down to his knees beside his friend. "It's gonna be A-Okay, Fraser. Those men in red are, are.....Oh, Fraser....," Ray's last words scraped across his suddenly dried up throat.   
  


Ben was in a bad way again, caught in the throes of a spiking pain. 'I only left him for a minute,' thought the detective in disbelief. "Damn it!" he shrieked, punching a hard fist at the air. Ray unclenched his hand and reached out to help his friend. "I'm here. I'm here. Easy, buddy, it's gonna be okay. We've got help now. You're gonna be all right. Please, hang on."   
  


Ray bent to embrace the Mountie's trembling shoulders, but Fraser twisted away trying to escape the pain in his middle. His legs thrashed against the soggy bedding. His hands clutched convulsively at the now blood-stained bandaging. Bright red blood trickled from both corners of his mouth. Ray's heart ached as the fragmented sounds of Ben's torment melded into a jagged keening. Desperate to do something, Ray dragged Fraser's shuddering body into his arms. "You're gonna be all right, buddy. It's almost over. Help is here." Ben's head moved fitfully against Ray's shoulder. "Hang on, Fraser. Hang on, buddy. Sssshh, it's gonna be okay."   
  


Ray could now hear the clamor of the dogs as the sleds approached the cabin. "We've got help, Fraser. It's going to be okay. You're going to be fine," the detective whispered. The Mountie's head sagged loosely. He was unconscious again. Ray moved a hand up to stroke Fraser's stubbly cheek, but jerked it away as he touched the fresh blood staining Ben's chin and neck. Ray prayed Fraser had bitten his tongue or the blood was from his mouth and lips being so dried out. 'Please don't let that be internal stuff. We're so close.'   
  


Diefenbaker hurtled through the open door whining with excitement. Behind him rose the sound of male voices. "In here," Ray screamed. "Hurry!" Ray looked up and squinted as three red- coated men crowded the cabin doorway. "We need help here. Fraser's badly hurt."   
  


"Constable Benton Fraser?" queried the first man through the door.   
  


"Yes, Fraser. He's been shot and needs help." In his anxiety, Ray's voice sharpened a few decibels.   
  


"We had been told that Constable Fraser was.....had been....well, never mind. Constable Porteneau, did you bring your gear in with you?" the man asked the shorter of the two Mounties behind him.   
  


"Yes," replied the man named Porteneau and moved to where Ray still cradled his fallen partner.   
  


"Constable Porteneau is medically trained. He will attend to Constable Fraser and be assisted by Constable Harrod," the man indicated the third man. "I am Sergeant March, in command of this.... retrieval unit. Perhaps, you could brief me on the events that have transpired here."   
  


Ray just stared at the man who in the better light looked disturbingly like Turnbull, as did that other one, Harry. 'Do they just cookie stamp these guys?' he wondered inanely. 'Except, of course, for Fraser. There's no one else like Fraser.' He shook his head. "Ah, sure, after we help my partner."   
  


Sergeant March raised an eyebrow at Ray's reference, but nodded and continued, "Constables Porteneau and Harrod will see to Constable Fraser's care now. I assure you they are quite capable of providing the necessary medical assistance. If you would be so kind, Constable Porteneau will need some space so he can examine Constable Fraser and determine the extent of his injuries."   
  


Ray grappled with his temper, "He's been shot. There. Where the bandage is. The bullet's in the sink. I took it out. He's been rotten sick with a high fever, but I thought we got past that. I don't know what's wrong now," Ray's voice lost its defensive, belligerent edge. ".....I don't know....." Ray was suddenly bone tired. He looked at the two Mounties kneeling on either side of him and Fraser and carefully unwrapped his arms from around his friend. He let the two men help him lay Fraser down flat on the bedding. "A real doctor is here. You're gonna be all right now," Ray said softly to Ben before stumbling to his feet.   
  


"You've done a fine job, Yank. It's time to let the RCMP take care of things. They are trained for this very thing. Benton has been and will be in good hands." Bob Fraser said with a grateful smile.   
  


"Detective Vecchio, perhaps you would like to sit over here," Sergeant March waved Ray to the little table. With Ray perched reluctantly on the edge of a chair at the table, the Sergeant began. "I imagine this has been a rather trying experience for you." Ray snorted at the understatement. "Yes, well, can you tell me when you arrived, what Constable Fraser's condition was at that time and what has happened in the interim? It would be most helpful to relate the sequencing as accurately as possible." March flipped open a small notebook and clicked his pen to ready.   
  


Ray looked askance at the sergeant. 'Is this guy for real? My best friend is lying three feet away with a bullet hole in him. I don't know what's happening to him and I'm supposed to sit here and calmly "relate" the sequence of events? Right.'   
  


"Detective?" March prodded.   
  


The detective gave Sergeant March a tight smile and tried to think back to that awful moment of discovery. In Ray's head, the days all ran backwards and tumbled into a big heap. "I...ah....," his narrative tripped along in uneven steps. His attention was too often distracted by odd phases and words drifting up from the two Mounties tending to Fraser. "Oh, my...," "hacksaw...," "source of that hemorrhaging...."   
  


Suddenly, Constable Porteneau appeared at March's left shoulder. "Sergeant March? Excuse me. I need to discuss this situation with you immediately," Porteneau interrupted.   
  


"Of course, Constable. Pardon me, Detective Vecchio," March waved an apologetic hand and went to confer with Porteneau in a far corner of the room.   
  


Ray immediately shot to Fraser's side. Constable Harrod was dabbing some sort of astringent compound around the exposed wound site. "How's he doing?" Ray asked anxiously. As he looked at the oozing, raw, ghastly looking hole under Fraser's ribs, Ray's own stomach felt like it was filled with coarse chunks of granite. 'What have I done?' The wound looked like the handiwork of some crazed butcher. 'Oh, Fraser, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'   
  


"We, ah....have some concerns," Constable Harrod responded with a sympathetic glance at the American.   
  


"Huh....what did you say?" Ray tried to pull himself back from the horror.   
  


"Concerns," Harrod repeated. "Constable Porteneau is concerned about Constable Fraser's present condition."   
  


Ray's attention snapped to the two Mounties in the corner. RCMP Sergeant March was speaking urgently into a hand-held radio. Before Ray could reach the two men, March thumbed a button on the radio and slipped it back onto his Sam Browne. He calmly faced Ray as the detective bulldozed across the room.   
  


"Detective Vecchio, pardon the interruption. Constable Porteneau feels it is necessary to expedite the removal of Constable Fraser to a fully equipped medical facility. I expect to have an evacuation helicopter arriving within the next hour and a half. Of course, you and Constable Porteneau will accompany Constable Fraser so I would advise you to collect any gear you wish to take along. Constable Harrod and I will secure this cabin and return to our base.   
  


"Is....is Fraser going to be all right?" Ray choked.   
  


The Mounties glanced at each other, but their faces remained impassive. "Constable Fraser will have excellent medical care," March answered smoothly. "Perhaps, there are some personal things of his you would like to pack as well. I will be happy to assist you."   
  


Instead of feeling relieved about getting Fraser to a hospital so quickly, Ray felt a terrible fear. Their Mountie calm didn't fool him. The Mounties were worried. This kind of action screamed emergency and that meant that death was till trying to take Ben. 'Don't give up, Fraser. Keep fighting. I'm here with you.'   
  


"Is this your backpack, Detective?" March asked gently, hoisting it up for the American to identify.   
  


Ray nodded and took it from the sergeant. Ray didn't care about taking any of his personal things, but he needed to do something and without thought, started to stuff an odd collection of items into the pack. For reasons he didn't stop to analyze, it was important to have Fraser's razor and brush and one of his worn flannel shirts that had been too threadbare for the previous surgical duty. Fingering the soft fabric, the detective stopped his gathering and watched as the Mounties stripped away Fraser's wet clothing, wrapped his lower body in a cottony looking blanket and moved him onto a carrying gurney type thing. Ray hated the impersonal way the men handled his friend.   
  


"Dief," Ray almost hollered. The wolf had come up behind Ray and nudged his leg. 'What is wrong with me, I almost forgot Dief.' "Sergeant, the wolf has to go with us too. In the helicopter, I mean."   
  


March looked at Diefenbaker and frowned. "I'm sorry, but this is a medical evac and for reasons of sanitation and sterility, animals are not permitted. We will transport him back to our base and make arrangements from there."   
  


Dief barked in protest. "No, Sergeant, Dief has to go with me and Fraser. I'm not leaving him here or at some base. Fraser needs to have him close by," Ray argued.   
  


Sergeant March started to counter the argument, but noting the stubborn set of the American's jaw and the stony look, the sergeant gave a slight nod and turned back to supervise his constables.   
  


"What about Malcolm's dogs?" Ray asked March's back. "What are you going to do about them?"   
  


The sergeant turned and gave the American a slight smile. "Constable Harrod and I will return them to Mr. Dermet before we return to base. Thank you for taking care of them."   
  


"No problem," the detective mumbled and resumed his packing. 'Damn Mounties know everything,' he thought with a touch of resentment. Ray wanted to spend the waiting time sitting with Fraser. He wanted to personally make sure his friend was safe and protected, but the Mounties were still performing their mysterious medical things. Ray had to concede that was probably more helpful than his own emotional hand holding. He sighed and crammed some more useless items into the bulging pack.   
  


In the arctic stillness, the heavy growl of the helicopter could be heard well before it was actually visible. Constable Harrod went outside to move the sleds away from the expected landing site. Constable Porteneau had re-bandaged Fraser and was tucking a warm covering around his upper torso. When March left the cabin to appraise the situation, Ray slipped back to Fraser's side. "A minute alone?" the detective asked, thumping to his knees beside the gurney. Porteneau nodded and rising to his feet with cat-like grace, moved off to view the copter's arrival from the window.   
  


"It's show time, buddy." Ray whispered. His hand squeezed Fraser's shoulder through the thick covering. "That whirly bird is going to take you to the hospital so you can get better. I won't be with you all the time, but you gotta know I'm always with you here." Ray laid his hand over Fraser's heart. "I'm with you, buddy. No matter what." He moved his hand to Fraser's forehead, feeling the sticky heat under his palm. The copter's whup, whup, whup filled the air and reverberated off the cabin walls. Ray leaned close to Fraser's ear, "Love you like a brother."   
  


Constable Porteneau, shouting to be heard over the noise, advised, "We're going to be loading Constable Fraser in a few minutes. You might want to get your gear."   
  


"Uh, yeah, okay," Ray agreed. He let his hand linger a moment longer, absorbing the warm essence of his friend. "Pitter, patter....We gotta go, buddy. Those doctors are gonna patch you up so you'll feel good again. Bet there's some pretty nurses, too....and they'll all be fighting with each other to see who gets to take care of you." Ray chuckled, knowing how uncomfortable all the inevitable female attention would make Fraser.   
  


In minutes, the little cabin was filled with people. Two muscle-bound men hefted the gurney and whisked Fraser through the door with Porteneau churning along in their wake shouting his instructions. March and two other men milled around the cabin making a visual sweep of the room. Ray followed their eyes and inwardly winced at the pile of bloody towels in the kitchen area and the stained, overturned cot and the saturated bedding sitting in puddles on the floor.   
  


'Poor Mounties are probably gonna blow out their little neatness meters,' Ray thought. 'There wasn't a whole lot of time to worry about a Good Housekeeping award,' he assured himself defensively. 'Hey, I did the best I could.' He was getting mad. 'Of course, Porkynose can probably perform open heart surgery, cook a four course meal and clean the kitchen floor without a waxy build-up.'   
  


Sergeant March strode over to Ray's side. "It was nice meeting you, Detective Vecchio, although, of course, we would both have preferred different circumstances."   
  


"Of course," Ray snarled facetiously, still caught up in his mental gripe.   
  


Unruffled by Ray's flippancy, the sergeant continued, "Again, to reassure you, Constable Harrod and I will secure this location. Now, we must get you on the helicopter. They will have situated Constable Fraser by now. Please come along."   
  


Ray was tempted to snap off a Nazi salute, but curbed the impulse. 'These Mounties just live and breathe efficiency. I don't think they can help it. And, they are helping Fraser,' Ray relented. "Er, thank you, Sergeant, for all your help. Fraser and I really appreciate it."   
  


"I'm glad my men and I were able to assist, Detective." March answered crisply and ushered Ray out of the cabin.   
  


"Yowza!" Ray threw up an arm to protect his eyes from the radiating sunlight. He shifted the back pack more squarely on his left shoulder and stumbled blindly toward the copter.   
  


"Head down!" someone yelled.   
  


"Yikes!" Ray bent almost double and crab walked behind March's jodhpur-clad legs. At the base of the helicopter steps, Diefenbaker merged into Ray's field of vision. "Oh, good, I was afraid I'd have to pry you away from some cute husky," the detective joked.   
  


"Hey," someone above Ray protested. "We don't fly dogs on a medical evac."   
  


Ray cautiously straightened up, prepared to do battle over Dief's right to travel with Fraser. Before Ray could even open his mouth, Sergeant March raised an imperious hand. "The animal is Constable Fraser's companion and as such, it has been deemed important to have him accompany the Constable. I will assume responsibility for the clearance. It is my understanding that the animal can safely ride in an area well away from the medical compartment so kindly direct Detective Vecchio and the dog to that section. Thank you."   
  


A strong hand wrapped itself around Ray's right biceps and half dragged him up the steps and into the copter's gaping doorway. "This way, please," the airman attached to the hand commanded.   
  


"But, don't I get to sit with Fraser? Wait," Ray objected and pulling back, craned his head to peer into the medical section. "Fraser may need me," the detective tried to reason. All he could see of his friend was the mummy-bound wrapping around his legs.   
  


"Constable Fraser requires medical attention right now. Anyone other than a doctor or medic would be a hindrance. Please come with me. You will be most comfortable back here," the airman stated in a no-nonsense manner and directed Ray away from where Fraser lay.   
  


Ray recognized that he was not going to win this skirmish and allowed himself to be propelled into a semi-partitioned section in the rear of the copter. Two strategically placed bulkhead walls completely blocked his view of the medical area. "Not exactly V.I.P. treatment here," he muttered under his breath. "Guess, we don't count for nuthin, Dief." The wolf whined in agreement.   
  


"Please sit here, Detective, and be sure to fasten your seatbelt. This bird flies pretty smoothly, but there can be unexpected turbulence."   
  


Ray reluctantly plunked himself down into the seat. "This is a bigger helicopter than I expected," he said, striving to tamp down his flaring temper. He certainly didn't expect to be stashed so far away from Fraser.   
  


"Because of our remote location, we need a transport with long range capability. Also, some of the problems, unique to this northern area, that we encounter require a larger payload capacity. These CH-113 Labradors are used almost exclusively for our SAR, excuse me, search and rescue missions." Using a couple of lengths of nylon strapping, the airman fashioned a harness for Diefenbaker and deftly tied the three foot end to Ray's seat's support. "There you go, fella, that should keep you out of trouble and still give you some maneuvering room." Dief growled.   
  


"If there is anything you need from your pack, please remove it now. I will need to secure your luggage in another area."   
  


"Thank you kindly," Ray hissed. He felt like an unwanted piece of baggage himself. He hated being this far away from Fraser. The detective needed to see what was happening to his friend. Ray had fought hard to keep Fraser alive. Could Ray trust those doctors to fight as hard? Did they understand how special their patient was? 'That isn't just any Mountie up there, that's Fraser.' The detective strapped himself into the seat under the watchful eye of his Canadian escort. 'As soon as this guy leaves, I'm outta here," Ray thought mutinously.   
  


"Are you hungry or perhaps thirsty, Detective Vecchio? We're not well stocked, but I'm sure I could find something satisfactory. Would you like to clean up, perhaps?" the airman offered.   
  


"Nah, er...no, I'm fine...ah, thank you," Ray tried to sound polite. 'Just go away,' he screamed in his head.   
  


"If you change your mind, I will be in the jump seat right on the other side of this wall, so please don't hesitate to ask." The airman smiled graciously, swung the backpack up and disappeared behind the bulkhead.   
  


'Shit!!' Ray banged his head against the back of the seat in frustration.   
  


Minutes later there was a slight lurch and shudder as the helicopter lifted off and started its rushed flight to the hospital. As exhausted as he was, Ray should have been lulled into sleep by the drone of the copter's big engines, but instead, he was wildly scheming of ways to get to Fraser. 'Gotta lose the shadow. Maybe, the old bathroom ploy....'   
  


"Hey, excuse me, is there a can on this plane...er, bird?" Ray hollered. "A bathroom, I'd like to use your john," he clarified.   
  


The airman peered around the partition and pointed. "It's through that door to your right. It's rather small, but it is fully equipped. I'm pleased to say we have progressed beyond pee-do tubes. There are some towels in the compartment under the sink if you would like to clean up a bit," he added.   
  


"Oh.....thanks," Ray pouted. 'So much for that brilliant plan. Unless I can lure my babysitter into the bathroom and lock him in.' Even as he thought it, the detective discarded the idea. 'Shit, the guy's just a little too savvy for that trick.' Ray mentally shrugged and decided he really did need to use the facilities. 'Guess I can figure out what a pee-do tube was. Damn the pee-does and full stream ahead. Whoa, getting a little punchy here.' He unbuckled his seatbelt and carefully stepping over the sleeping Diefenbaker, crossed the five or six foot space between his seat and the restroom.   
  


The room was closet size, but did have a toilet and small sink. It was also spotlessly clean. 'They could probably do brain surgery in here,' Ray thought peevishly as he flushed the toilet. Turning to wash his hands, he almost cried out at the sight of himself in the mirror. His blond hair looked grimy and the portions that weren't plastered to his head stuck up in odd little spikes. The dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes, the wild growth of beard and the dried blood that had apparently splattered up during the "operation" all combined to make him look like something that had crawled out of Chicago's worst gutter. 'No wonder everyone's giving me the fast shuffle,' he thought with a jolt of understanding. 'I look like your crazed neighborhood ax murderer.'   
  


Cracking the door slightly, Ray hollered to his escort. "Excuse me, could I have my pack? I need to, uh....fix a few things."   
  


"Certainly, Detective," came the response and two minutes later, Ray was digging through the contents of the pack. He shook his head over some of the items. 'What was I thinking when I put that in there?' he wondered several times. He would use Fraser's brush, but the straight edge razor would be hazardous. 'I should shave, but one weird air pocket and I end up slitting my throat. Not a good idea.' Crammed in the bottom of the pack, Ray unearthed a clean pair of briefs, fresh socks and a clean t-shirt which he would wear under Fraser's old flannel shirt. He regretted not stuffing in some better jeans, but he would be half-way presentable anyway.   
  


Ray spent almost forty minutes scrubbing and washing. He practically had to hang from the ceiling to get his hair semi-washed. Trying to change clothes in such a small area required the body control of a contortionist, but it was worthwhile. Even with wet hair and badly wrinkled clothes, Ray looked and felt much better. 'Won't be terrifying small children now,' he thought with some satisfaction. He had been careful to wipe out the sink, too. 'See, I can be neat when I have time.' The towels were trashed, but that was unavoidable.   
  


The airman smiled with approval when he saw Ray. "I can re-stow that pack for you, Detective. Would you like something to drink now? I found some juice and some power bars, if you would like something for your stomach."   
  


Ray thought fast. 'Maybe, Mr. Efficient will have to go to another section of the copter to get the juice and I can just slip up to front.' Ray cleared his throat. "Yea...yes, that sounds good. I would appreciate it."   
  


"If you'll just sit down and re-belt," the airman nodded to the vacant seat, "I'll be happy to get you that drink. I hope apple juice will be all right. We have not had time to restock our supplies."   
  


Ray made a big show of stretching and working out some imaginary stiffness in his legs. "Just have to get the kinks out before I sit down again," he smiled in his most winning fashion. "I really am pretty dry though and that juice is sounding mighty good right now," he added pointedly.   
  


"Of course, excuse me for keeping you waiting," the airman apologized and disappeared behind the bulkhead.   
  


Ray slowly counted to twenty and then cautiously peeked around the wall. There was no sign of his Canadian shadow, but there was another wall between Ray and the medical area. Without hesitation, he bolted for it and ran right into the juice-bearing airman.   
  


Both men grunted with surprise. "Detective Vecchio, you should be back in your seat," the airman admonished.   
  


"Yeah, well, I had this leg cramp and when I get it, I have to walk it out." Ray could see the Canadian wasn't buying it. "Look, damn it, my best friend is laying up there with a bad gunshot and he's really sick and I don't know how he's doing and it's making me nuts. I tried to take care of him, but I'm not a doctor and maybe I made things worse, I don't know. I just gotta know how he is. I gotta see him. He may need something only I know about," Ray stared beseechingly at the airman.   
  


The Canadian nodded in sympathy. "I do understand, Detective," he said softly, "but your presence in the medical area might compromise your friend's treatment. The doctors need to maintain a certain level of sanitation and well, ...." he looked meaningfully at Ray's still unkempt attire. "Also, the working area in this bird is very constricted. The doctors need to be able react to any situation and extra personnel can jeopardize their ability to reach essential equipment. Possibly, I can have one of the doctors come back and explain their assessment of Constable Fraser's condition and explain the treatment they are providing. Would that help reassure you as to the care your friend is receiving?"   
  


"No, I want to see Fraser," Ray insisted with a mulish edge to his voice. "I just want to see him to be sure he's all right. I won't touch anything. I won't get in the way. I just want to see him for myself." Ray was ready to push past the Canadian and charge into the sick bay.   
  


Perhaps sensing Ray's intentions, the airman raised a hand in the classic stop position and tried again to reason with the American. "I really can't allow you into the restricted area for the reasons I cited, but perhaps we can find a place outside the area where you will able to at least see your friend. I can't guarantee how much you will able to see, but maybe, it will give you some peace of mind. Will you please wait here while I make the arrangements?"   
  


Ray nodded. "Thanks."   
  


Thirty seconds was his limit though. 'Screw this waiting here politely. I gotta know what's happening.' As soon as the Canadian disappeared around the partition, Ray sidled up to the wall and peeked around it. He could see the medical area and maybe a little bit of the foot of Fraser's gurney, but equipment and medics blocked any view of his friend. 'I gotta get closer,' he decided, 'maybe, over there.' He focused on an area to the extreme left of the med compartment. Before he could make his move, a sharply spoken "Detective Vecchio!"brought his head up. 'Uh, oh, busted,' Ray thought in frustration and threw a hopeful smile in the voice's direction.   
  


The airman responded with a tolerant smile and waved the detective over. "This is as close as you will be permitted," the Canadian said when Ray joined him. "The doctors are still monitoring Constable Fraser's condition and are hesitant to discuss his medical status until he can be evaluated by the properly equipped hospital staff. They have, however, assured me that your friend is stable for the moment."   
  


Ray's panic level wanged off the charts. 'That's Canadian doublespeak for things aren't so good, but let's not scare the poor American slob,' he thought with a rush of fear. He twisted his head trying to catch a glimpse of Fraser between the moving bodies and monitoring equipment. 'Move yer butt, Porkynose,' he thought fiercely. "I can't see," Ray complained, his voice bristling with a sharp anger. "I can't see Fraser."   
  


"Please, Detective Vecchio, be patient for a few minutes."   
  


"Go to h.....," Ray broke off as suddenly Constable Porteneau changed position and there was Fraser. Ray's fear and anger and compassion and love all collided and left him gasping. "Oh,...oh, Fra....ser." The Mountie lay as if dead, his body violated with a trailing array of wires and tubes. There were monitoring patches stuck on his chest, an IV drip stuck in the top of his right hand and an oxygen cannula up his nose. Ray's thoughts darkened. He had seen Fraser in aching torment, sick and hurting and helpless, but somehow this enforced distance between them made the Mountie seem even more despairingly vulnerable. Ray's hands knotted into hard fists and whirling, he viciously one-two punched the partition behind him. Oblivious to his bloodied knuckles, he swung back around and resumed his watch over Fraser.   
  


"The Yank's an emotional sort," Bob Fraser explained to the stunned airman. "He and my son are partners and very close. Nice helicopter, by the way." Bob leaned over to Ray, "I wondered when you'd talk your way up here. I've been keeping an eye on things although I must say everyone seems very capable. Used to know a Porteneau, had a place up the Mink..." Fraser Sr. wandered closer to where his son lay.   
  


Ray rolled his neck trying to release some of his pent-up tension. 'Probably should apologize to my watch-dog,' he thought and slid a quick look at the Canadian who seemed to have regained his calm mask. 'Nah, let him think I'm a loose cannon. He won't want to get in my way.' Ray almost smiled. The flashing lights and lines on the various monitors surrounding Fraser drew Ray's attention. 'Damn it, what does all that stuff mean?' The detective's mouth set into a grim, hard line.   
  


The helicopter hurried on. Unconsciously, Ray continually shifted his position to maintain his visual contact with Fraser. As the helicopter reacted to air disturbances, Ray also reacted, his legs automatically finding stability so he could watch every detail of his friend's treatment. Ray was so absorbed in this vigil that he flinched away when the airman nudged Ray's arm and ahemmed an "Excuse me, Detective."   
  


"Wha...," Ray swallowed. "What?"   
  


"Pardon me, Detective Vecchio, but we'll be landing very soon and you need to return to your seat." The airman gestured toward the back of the copter.   
  


"No," Ray stated, folding his arms across his chest.   
  


"Detective, landings can be rough and I don't think you want to risk crashing into the medical area and possibly endangering Constable Fraser. Safety regulations require passengers to be belted into a seat. We have tried to accommodate your....needs. We now ask that you abide by the measures we have established to protect our personnel, our patients and you, our passenger. I promise that as soon as we touch down, you will be permitted to accompany the doctors and Constable Fraser into the hospital." The Canadian folded his arms across his chest and with a defiant look dared the detective to say no again.   
  


'Yeah, I see how much I intimidated the guy,' Ray grumbled to himself. He looked around hoping to find a seat in this area. He would sit, but only if he could still see Fraser. There were no seats. Before Ray could form the word "no," a sudden rough hitch in the helicopter's flight staggered him back against the bulkhead.   
  


Seizing the opportunity, the airman grabbed Ray's arm and pulled him back behind the wall. "This way, please." Ray gave up trying to resist, but did insist on being seated in the jump seat the airman had used earlier. It was a lame compromise though it made Ray feel a little bit better. The turbulence had awakened Diefenbaker. Seeing Ray, the wolf yawned widely and flopped back into a sleeping position. 'Sheesh, dogs have it easy.'   
  


There was a little pitching and yawing as the helicopter settled its wheels back down on the ground, but as soon as he felt the thump of touchdown, Ray unlatched his belt and darted out to the main compartment. Things were happening fast and in the whirl of activity, he found himself stumbling down the exit steps and trying to keep pace with the men racing Fraser's gurney across the frosty tarmac. Doors opened and closed around him and he realized he was in the hospital. Ahead of him, Fraser and the medics disappeared around a corner. Ray skidded as he made the turn and was moving so fast that he almost slammed into the closed doors leading to Operating Room B.   
  


"Wait...,wait, someone....," he stopped and then tested the doors, not really surprised to find them locked. The open-sez-a-me code box to the right of the doors seemed to mock him.   
  


"I'm sorry, sir, you can't go in there," a female voice rushed at him from the left.   
  


"I know. I know that," he said, giving the doors an angry shake. He turned to face the woman. She was a nurse, a nice looking woman probably in her late 30's or early 40's Ray judged. "Is that your friend or perhaps a family member who was just taken in there?" she asked with a sympathetic tone.   
  


"Uh, yeah..., my friend....my partner," Ray mumbled. "My brother," he whispered to himself.   
  
  
  


"Detective Vecchio." It was the airman, finally catching up. "You forgot your pack. I wasn't sure what to do about the dog so he's tied up outside by the heliport entrance," he said as he thrust the backpack into Ray's hands.   
  


"Uh, thanks." Ray suddenly felt guilty about how he had treated the guy. "Hey, look....I....well, you know, I sort of......."   
  


The Canadian raised his hand to stop the halting words. He smiled. "You were concerned about Constable Fraser. That's quite understandable. Partners form deep bonds. I, too, have a partner. I hope Constable Fraser will recover quickly. He'll receive excellent care at this facility," he said, nodding at the nurse. "It's not as large as what you're used to in Chicago, but I assure you it has all the state-of-the-art technologies."   
  


"Thank you, I really appreciate all you....and your crew did for us," Ray said gratefully. Unmindful of his battered knuckles, he stuck out his hand, "Thanks, again."   
  


"Good luck to you and Constable Fraser," the airman responded and after a quick, light handshake marched out of sight around the corner.   
  


"Detective?" the nurse asked. "May I show you to our waiting room? You look like you need to sit down. I noticed your hand, should I call a doctor for you?" The woman smiled pleasantly.   
  


'No. I do not want to go to a waiting room. I hate waiting. I don't do waiting good,' the protests rolled around his head. He looked at the nurse and saw a caring, concerned, nice person who didn't deserve his trouble. "Yeah, the waiting room would be swell. I'm okay though. No doctor for me. Uh, any chance we can smuggle Fraser's wo...ah, dog in? It's really cold out there and Dief, his name is Diefenbaker, is a very sensitive, kinda people dog. I promised Fraser I'd look after his dog and it would mean a lot to both of us." Ray went for his poor, pitiful me look and then zapped her with his patented little boy charming smile.   
  


Nurse Appel, according to her name tag, frowned. "We don't allow animals in the hospital."   
  


Ray rubbed his bearded face wearily. 'Must be too tired to project irresistable,' he decided and tried another ploy. "You must make exceptions sometimes," he wheedled   
  


The nurse started to shake her head, but checked herself. "Well, hospital rules do allow seeing-eye or guide dogs," she amended.   
  


"Well, there you go," Ray said triumphantly. "Dief does that stuff. He would qualify under that rule. And, he's a police dog. He won't bark or anything. He's very well trained." Ray was stretching the truth, but it was for a good cause. "I promise I'll keep him away from the snack machines," he added.   
  


"What? Well, okay. I guess. Although, he'll need to go in the employee's lounge rather than the waiting area," the nurse relented. "You go get him. I'll keep your pack and wait at this corner.   
  


"Thanks. That's really great. You've been very kind," Ray schmoozed and rushed to get the wolf before Ms. Appel had second thoughts.   
  


"You owe me big time," Ray told Diefenbaker as they trotted back down the hall. "Make nice with the nurses and you can probably stay. And, don't embarrass me by trying to eat their lunches when they're not looking. Just play cute doggie, okay?"   
  


Dief ignored the detective and zeroed in on the kindly Nurse Appel. The wolf arrived first. He immediately sat down nicely in front of the nurse and raised a paw like he wanted to shake hands. "Oh, aren't you darling?" she exclaimed. He gave a soft whine and cocked his head, waving his paw. "Oh, yes, the gals are going to love you," Ms. Appel gushed. "He'll be fine in the lounge, Detective. Why don't you wait here while I get him situated? I'll be right back. Are you hungry, Diefenbaker? I'm sure we can find you some yummy treats."   
  


'The dog's shameless,' Ray thought with a touch of envy. He sagged against the wall to wait for the nurse's return. He needed to know what was happening with Fraser, but he didn't know who to badger for information. Nurse Appel was the only authoritative figure he had noticed so far. 'She'll be back any moment and then I'll demand to know what's going on.' His eyes felt gritty. He was very tired. 'I'm losing my adrenalin rush,' he recognized. 'Maybe if I just rest my eyes for a minute, they'll feel better.' It was faulty thinking.   
  


"Detective," Nurse Appel cried. She caught Ray before he slid completely to the floor. "Oh, dear, you're exhausted. Let me get you someplace where you can lie down. We do have spare beds," she grunted trying to stabilize the American's weight until he roused enough to regain control.   
  


Ray fought to fully wake up. 'I gotta find out about Fraser,' he mentally prodded himself. "I'm okay, I'm fine," he practically yelled at the poor nurse. He pushed away from the wall and stood swaying for a minute until he found his equilibrium. He wiped the fogginess from his eyes. "I'm okay," he repeated. "Who do I talk to about Fraser? I gotta know what's goin on."   
  


"Let's go to the waiting area," the nurse said firmly. "The doctor will come there and he can explain what treatment your partner required. It's really the best place for you to be right now." She took Ray's arm and gently tugged him towards her. "Don't forget your belongings," she pointed.   
  


"Yeah, okay," Ray agreed, hooking up the pack. He was grateful for Nurse Appel's guiding hand on his arm. He still felt loggy and the bright corridor lights made his eyes hurt. He couldn't keep track of the turns and color coded hallways so he allowed himself to be pulled towards the waiting room.   
  


"Here we are, Detective," the nurse announced brightly. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'd be happy to bring you some coffee from the lounge. We also have a nice cafeteria in the west wing that carries a full complement of food and drink."   
  


Ray looked around. The little room looked like every other waiting room he'd ever been in except it was cleaner and neater. It was also emptier. This little space was all his. He would be alone with his thoughts. He couldn't decide if that was good or bad.   
  


"Coffee, Detective?" chirped Ms. Appel.   
  


"Uh, yeah. Coffee. Thanks. That would be good. Just black," Ray marshaled a smile for his Florence Nightingale. He chose one the chairs closest to the door and lowered his weary body into it. As soon as Nurse Appel left to get the coffee, Ray slumped into a sprawl and leaned his head back against the wall. 'Fraser, buddy, what is happening to you?' Ray tried to conjure up images of his friend resting pain-free and rosy cheeked in a post-op room, but instead a horrific collage of scenes from the past few days strobed across his mind's eye. 'Damn it, why doesn't somebody come and tell me what's happening?'   
  


Agitation and nervous energy drove Ray to his feet. He panther-stalked around the room, stopping briefly at the window with a view of another wing and then forging on to the doorway. If he'd had a clue where they were keeping Fraser, Ray would have bolted for it. 'Shit, I don't even know where I am. Besides, I gotta be here when the doctor comes. Where the hell is everybody? I need to know what's going on.' On his third circuit, he almost ran over the ever helpful Nurse Appel.   
  


"Oh, Detective," the nurse cried and quick-stepped backwards to avoid Ray's full-throttled orbit.   
  


"Agh, sorry. Sorry," the detective stopped abruptly and reached out a hand to steady Ms. Appel. "Couldn't sit still," he admitted. "Got kinda anxious. Any word on what's happening?"   
  


The nurse thrust the coffee cup into Ray's hands and nervously smoothed her uniform down over her hips. "I haven't heard anything yet, but it hasn't been very long. I know it's hard to wait," she said, spreading her hands helplessly.   
  


"Yeah, well, it's been a tough time. Fraser's my best friend. I'm just worried, you know. He's never been hurt this bad before," Ray hated the cracking in his voice. He made a show of sipping the coffee. 'Ugh, tastes as bad as cop shop joe,' he thought, but gave the nurse a big smile anyway. "Thanks for the coffee. I needed that."   
  


"Oh you're welcome. I'll go see if I can find out anything about your friend's condition. I'm sure everything will be all right. Our doctors are wonderful," she smiled warmly and gave Ray's arm a reassuring pat. "I'll be back as soon as I know something."   
  


"Any news would be great," Ray couldn't control the desperate edge to his words. "You'll tell me right away?"   
  


"Of course, Detective, as soon as I know anything," Ms. Appel repeated and hustled out of the room on her mission.   
  


Ray took another swallow of coffee, grimaced and looked for a place to discreetly dump the rest. "Aghh, the plants don't deserve this either," he muttered, putting the cup on a table instead. The detective wandered back to the window and stared out at the snowy ground separating the two hospital wings.   
  


"How're doin, buddy?" he whispered. He hugged the extra folds of Fraser's shirt around his lean body. The flannel felt soft and oddly comforting under Ray's hands. He could envision Fraser rolling up the sleeves of the shirt and strong and sure, splitting a stack of wood. 'You're going to be all right,' Ray thought fiercely. He rested his forehead against the cold window pane. "Please, somebody, tell me something." His impassioned words fogged the glass around his head.   
  


His roiling emotions drained away the last of his reserve energy and Ray almost staggered on his way back to his chair. 'This is hell. I hate this waiting and not knowing. Where is Nurse Helpful anyway?' He knew he was being unfair, but he didn't care. "Damn it." He slouched forward over his legs and elbows on knees, rested his head in his hands. He felt almost physically sick from the thoughts rampaging through his mind.   
  


"Excuse me, Detective? Detective." Nurse Appel was back. "They have just finished in the O.R. The doctor will be here shortly." She lifted her hand and shook her head to Ray's unasked question, "I don't have any more information, but the doctor will talk to you in a few minutes."   
  


Ray was suddenly very nervous as he rose stiffly to his feet. His hand dropped to the hem of his shirt, his fingers rubbing the flannel fabric like a worry stone. 'It's gonna be okay. Fraser's gonna be fine. It's gonna be okay. Fraser's gonna be fine.'   
  


"Would you like me to wait here with you, Detective?" the nurse asked quietly. "Sometimes, it helps to have another person present. It's easy to get distracted and miss details in these circumstances."   
  


It took a minute for Ray to absorb her words over the throbbing rush of blood pounding in his ears. "Yeah, okay. Tha'd be good," he managed to spit out.   
  


Seeing the troubled, stressed look on the detective's face, Ms. Appel searched for an upbeat topic. "Diefenbaker is fine. Don't worry about that. One of the gals bought him a hamburger from the cafeteria," she chuckled. "He's quite a dog. Several of the nurses are already talking about.....," she broke off as two men in blood-stained green scrubs stepped into the room.   
  


Ray's instinct was to recoil from the sight of the blood, Fraser's blood, but he stood firm. Before either doctor could speak, Ray hit them with a barrage of questions, "How is he? Is he gonna be all right? Can I see him now?" The detective looked frantically from one man to the other.   
  


"Perhaps you would like to sit down and we can discuss the Constable's condition," said the older, gray-haired doctor waving a hand at the seats behind Ray. 

"Uh, no, I'm okay. How is Fraser? I need to know how he is. Tell me how he is," Ray 's voice was pitching into shout volume.   
  


"Of course, of course," the doctor said in a soothing tone. "But please sit down. I have been on my feet for a long time and my back needs a rest," he continued, dragging a chair away from the wall and settling into it.   
  


Ray grunted an affirmative and impatiently dropped into his original seat, shifting slightly to face the doctor. Nurse Appel and the second man, who Ray now recognized as Constable Porteneau, remained standing just behind the doctor's chair.   
  


"I'm Dr. Shields. Constable Fraser is in post-op right now. As soon as we are sure he is stable, he will be moved into a critical care unit. To summarize our evaluation, the head wound is healing well and does not present a problem.. Our main concern is the abdominal wound. In some ways, we were lucky in the location of the original bullet. Stomach wounds are particularly nasty and can cause a lot of internal destruction, but this one did relatively little damage that way. The bullet did nick the spleen and perforated a small portion of the intestines, but missed the colon. Fortunately, there was no bullet fragmentation or ricochet effect once it penetrated the body. The intestinal tract tear was an easy repair and the spleen did not require any additional surgery....."   
  


"He's gonna be okay then, right?" Ray interrupted, joy starting to replace the abject fear of a few minutes earlier.   
  


"Please, let me finish," Dr. Shields commanded. The somber look on his face sent Ray's blood pressure skyward again. Ray's hands clutched at Fraser's shirt like it was a talisman.   
  


"Unfortunately, the wound was not properly treated." Ray opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor hurried on. "I realize this happened in a very remote area and medical supplies were scant." He looked at the detective's stricken expression and offered a sympathetic smile. "Under those circumstances, you did a very commendable job in treating Constable Fraser, but the wound has become septic. The puncture in the intestines leaked toxic bacteria into the Constable's bloodstream and has caused a severe state of infection in his system. You had no means of treating that, but it has led to a dangerous condition," the doctor concluded.   
  


"Will he be all right? I mean, he'll get better, right? You're giving him stuff to make him better, right?" Ray felt like his skull was caving in from the awful weight of the doctor's words.   
  


Dr. Shields spoke carefully. "Sepsis is very serious. In advanced stages, it is potentially life threatening. The blood is essentially poisoned, but that does not mean it is......necessarily...a fatal condition. Constable Fraser is young and strong which is a huge asset. We are fighting this infection very aggressively and are expecting a favorable outcome."   
  


Ray could only stare at the doctor. He didn't trust himself to speak. He wasn't even sure he could move.   
  


"Do you have any questions for me?" the doctor asked. "The treatment is rather detailed and I suspect you need time to think about what I have just told you, but I'll be happy to respond to any concerns you have."   
  


Ray just shook his head.   
  


"I need to prepare for rounds," the doctor announced as he got to his feet. "Nurse, please show the Detective where my office is in case he needs to discuss something with me later. Constable Porteneau, thank you for your assistance. It's always a pleasure to work with you." The doctor turned to go.   
  


"Uh, wait," Ray croaked. "Can I see him? Can I see Fraser?"   
  


Dr. Shields turned back around and faced the distraught detective. The doctor hesitated. "Yes, that would be fine, but after we get the Constable set up in the CCU. I'll send someone to get you." He smiled briefly and left the room.   
  


Nurse Appel timidly touched Ray's shoulder. "Detective?" she prodded. "Is there anything I can do for you while you're waiting? Can I bring you anything? Would you like to see Diefenbaker?"   
  


Ray appreciated the woman's efforts to be kind, but he couldn't handle nice right now. He really couldn't handle much right now. "No.....thank you. I just need....to think for a little bit. Uh, I'm sure Dief is lapping up the attention from your friends. I'll check on him later." Ray tried to smile, but wasn't sure he actually pulled it off. "Uh, thanks."   
  


"You're welcome. Well, okay, if you're sure you'll be all right. I really should check on a few things anyway. You can have me paged if you need anything or if you have any questions I can help you with." The nurse paused. "I know your friend's condition sounds pretty bad, but I'm sure it will be all right. Dr. Shields is a very good doctor," she finished encouragingly.   
  


"Yeah, it will be all right." Ray repeated dully. His murmured "thanks" was muffled as he dropped his head back into his hands. Part of him wanted to lash out and hit something. 'Hell, I can't even keep my head up, much less make a fist.' He felt so defeated. He had thought getting Fraser to the hospital would be the magic cure. 'No more suffering, no more pain. Presto, instant recovery,' his derisive laugh came out as a groan. He lifted his head and was startled to find a staring Porteneau in the doctor's vacated chair.   
  


"Uh,...what?" Ray's surprise took on a defensive tone.   
  


"There was no time to talk to you before. Things were.....hectic," the Canadian smiled grimly. "I'm sure you wondered how the RCMP knew to come to the Constable's cabin."   
  


Ray nodded, although, in truth, he hadn't stopped worrying long enough to question it. "Go on," he waved at Porteneau.   
  


"Constable Fraser is well known in the RCMP. His father was sort of legendary and Ben is rapidly achieving that same mark."   
  


"You know Fraser?" Ray interrupted, somehow surprised by the familiarity.   
  


"Constable Fraser and I trained together and have had several joint assignments," Porteneau confirmed. "Sergeant March and Constable Harrod have also worked with Ben off and on over the years. Anyway, I....we were stunned when we heard that he had been killed by an assassin. It seemed impossible that both father and son would be felled in the same manner.   
  


"An Inspector Thatcher, the commanding officer in Chicago I'm told, called with the news and ordered that the RCMP retrieve the body. We had also been warned that you had been dispatched earlier to bring Ben back to Chicago and would probably need some assistance as well." Porteneau shook his head. "It was a grim assignment, but we all volunteered because we had personal ties.   
  


"When we discovered Ben was still alive, we were quite elated. I want to say thank you for that. Given his condition, there is little doubt that he would have died without your help. Now there's a good chance to save him. He's tough. I guess I don't have to tell you that. I have seen him endure incredible things. He'll get through this, Detective. He has a good partner by his side." Porteneau coughed to cover the emotional edge. "Well, it's time for me to report in and then, I will return to my posting. We will be monitoring Ben's progress though. Good luck, Detective." He stood and offered his hand.   
  


Ray stumbled to his feet and grasped the Canadian's hand. He shook it with a grateful fervor. The man's words meant a lot to him. "Thanks for....everything," he said simply.   
  


Porteneau nodded and started to leave the room, but paused by the door. "Tell Ben that Andre says to watch his back, I have not forgotten the walrus pie incident." With a brisk wave, Constable Porteneau exited.   
  


'Walrus pie???' Ray wondered. 'Fraser, you freak.' The light moment passed quickly and Ray was once more restlessly pacing the room. 'His Mountie buddies think Fraser'll pull through. Porkynose is a doctor or medic or something so he should know.' Ray was trying to tally all the positives. 'Fraser's strong and the doctors here are really good according to Nurse ah, what's her name. Yeah, he's gonna be all right. He's gonna beat this thing.' Ray just wished he could truly believe it.   
  


Fifteen minutes later, Ray was still making his agitated laps when Nurse Appel reappeared. "Detective Vecchio, excuse me, you have a phone call. It's a Lieutenant Welsh calling. From Chicago."   
  


Ray was momentarily torn. He wasn't sure what to say to Welsh. He knew the Lieutenant and the others would want to hear something positive and sepsis wasn't a good diagnosis. 'But, a voice from home would sound really great right now.'   
  


"Uh, I'm waiting to see Fraser. Will someone get me even though I'm on the phone?" Ray asked anxiously.   
  


"Oh, yes, Detective," the nurse assured him. "The Constable is still in recovery," she bit her lip and rushed on, "but, I'll come get you as soon as they are ready to move him."   
  


"Yeah, okay, let's go then," Ray agreed.   
  


Nurse Appel directed him into a small, private office furnished spartanly with just a desk, chair and single filing cabinet. Ray slid a hip onto the desk and with a hunch of his shoulder and neck clamped the phone to his ear. His fingers nervously pleated the hem of Fraser's shirt. "Hey, Lieutenant...." The detective smiled as Welsh's gruff bark filled the earpiece.   
  


When Ray finally hung up, his neck needed a swift crack to make it work again. He had tried to be encouraging, but he knew Welsh was reading between the lines and appreciated the seriousness of the situation. Still, the lieutenant's familiar tones brought Ray a certain comfort. Welsh also filled in the remaining gaps in the rescue story.   
  


'Dante, I owe ya big time,' Ray reflected. Dante Speca, the primo mob snitch, had appeared again, anxious to sell the last chapter of the Warfield hit story. It seemed the assassin had come to town looking for the rest of his payment. "I did the job. The Mountie's dead. Put him down with one shot, but put in an insurance shot anyway. Where's my money?"   
  


According to Welsh via Dante, the new regime in mobster land was not pleased to have this goomba running around bragging about an ill-advised police hit and then trying to put the squeeze on for more money. Fraser's assailant was quietly removed from the scene and later found floating under one of the north side piers. He had not died easy.   
  


Ray sighed as he reran the story through his head. 'I wish I coulda brought down the scumbag myself,' he thought, but the heat of revenge was lost in his worry about Fraser's recovery. 'Gotta focus on what's important, gotta get Fraser better.'   
  


There was a light knock on the door, followed by Nurse Appel's lilting voice, "Detective Vecchio?"   
  


"Yeah?" Ray yanked open the door. "Can I see Fraser now?"   
  


The nurse smiled and nodded, "Yes, I can take you to see your friend now." A frown flitted across her face, "Um, he's not awake yet. You won't be able to stay very long, but you can at least see him for a few minutes."   
  


"Good. That's good. Yeah, let's go," Ray ran his hands nervously through his hair. "Yeah, I'm ready."   
  


Nurse Appel found some clean scrub pants in his size which he gladly exchanged for his filthy jeans. "They should be burned," he suggested with a sheepish grin. The nurse and detective mildly tussled over the flannel shirt, but Ray wasn't ready to give that up. He felt kind of goofy in the sterile gown, mask, booties and cap regulations decreed he wear when visiting critical care.   
  


"Fraser won't even recognize me," Ray groused. "Or else, he'll think he's having a nightmare. Dr. Demento coming to pay him a little visit, hee, hee." Ray flapped his gowned arms menacingly. With a shiver of shock, he let his arms fall back to his sides. 'Fraser's probably already having nightmares about me sticking that knife in him.' Ray wanted to throw up.   
  


There were four beds in the critical care unit, each positioned towards a corner of the room and each surrounded by a myriad of monitoring equipment. Only two of the beds were occupied. Ray instinctively knew Fraser was in the corner farthest from the door, but the detective's practiced eye scanned the person in the bed to his right.   
  


He couldn't tell if the wizened stick whose life was being measured by whirring, blinking machines was male or female. 'G-d, I hate this. Fraser shouldn't be in a place like this. This is for old, sick people, not Mounties.' Ray pulled the mask covering his nose and mouth slightly away from his face so he could catch his breath.   
  


With hesitant steps, he threaded his way to his friend's bedside. The detective was dazzled by the various LCDs, flashing constant data about Fraser's condition. The man himself seemed lost in the maze of tubing and wires feeding info to the surrounding machines.   
  


Bob Fraser shifted to make room for Ray. "Glad you're here, Yank. This is a mighty lonely place."   
  


"Shit," Ray swore. He wanted to be reassured that Fraser was okay, but he looked like the victim of some grotesque X-Files alien experiment. Ray struggled to accept the fact that the IV drips and machines were there to help. They seemed to be sucking the life out of their human host. "Damn it, Fraser, damn it," Ray's voice shook with emotion.   
  


The Mountie was diminished by all hardware haloing his bed. Only his dark hair stood out against the white sheets. His skin looked almost transparent. The bluish threads of the blood vessels were clearly visible beneath the surface. The pinched twist of his face said that the pain was just beneath the surface as well.   
  


Ray wanted to grab his friend and pull him out of this awful room. He wanted to take him far away from this place of suffering. He was afraid Fraser would end up like the person by the door. Ray had to consciously remember to breathe. His fear threatened to suffocate him. He stood there, helplessly staring at the man in the bed. He stood there, trying to remember his friend as a vital, strong person. Tears left misshapen blotches on the mask tied around Ray's lower face.   
  


Bob Fraser sympathized. "I know, Yank. Benton doesn't look so good. He's a fighter though. He's going to be all right. You'll see." The old man laid a ghostly hand on his son's forehead. "You have to get better, Son. You have many more things to do in your life."   
  


Ray eventually became aware of whispering behind him. He had just given his eyes a quick wipe when there was a light tap on his arm. "Detective Vecchio?" Nurse Appel's hushed tones were almost lost in the insect-like hum of the monitoring equipment. "We really should leave now. Someone will call you when Constable Fraser is awake. You'll be able to come back then."   
  


"But," Ray started to protest, even though he hated being in this place. "Fraser needs to know I'm here. He shouldn't be alone."   
  


"I haven't left his side, Yank" Bob Fraser objected. "I've been with him the whole time and I don't mind telling you that an operating room is not for the faint-hearted. Benton, remember when Sulky Peters tried to go logging after downing several pints of Malcolm's home brew? Now that was a mess. You should never fall down on a running chain saw," Bob lectured somberly.   
  


"He won't be alone, Detective," intoned a new voice. Ray looked around straight into the hazel eyes of another masked nurse. "There will be a nurse here at all times. According to his charts, he was given a heavy sedative so he will be un....sleeping for several hours yet. He wouldn't even be aware of your presence. I promise you will be called as soon as the constable awakens."   
  


Nurse Appel latched onto Ray's arm and drew him towards the door. "Thanks, Rachelle," Ms. Appel murmured. "Have the operator page me when Detective Vecchio can return."   
  


"This way, please, Detective."   
  


Nurse Appel persuaded Ray to come back with her to the nurse's lounge to check on Diefenbaker. As Ray expected, the wolf was enjoying the attention of several nurses and barely acknowledged the detective's arrival. "Rotten ingrate dog," Ray mouthed, trusting Dief really could lip-read. The wolf gave a small, irritated woof and turned back to his adoring audience. Ray shrugged. 'If the furs fits...'   
  


His self-appointed guardian nurse was also insistent that the detective grab a shower and a shave. "You'll feel so much better. You're probably a nice looking guy under all that scruffiness," she teased.   
  


Decked out later in clean clothes the enterprising Nurse Appel had commandeered from one of the interns, Ray did admit that he felt like a new man. He even relinquished the flannel shirt, but only after Ms. Appel promised to wash it herself and return it to him the next day. ''It's my lucky shirt," he offered as an explanation, "and I need all the good vibes I can get. Cops," he smiled, "lots of superstitions."   
  


The two of them were in the cafeteria when the page came from the critical care unit. Ray almost choked on his last bite of lasagna. He desperately wanted to see his friend. 'But, will it really be Fraser behind those eyes?' The trip back to the CCU took on a surreal quality as conflicting images and emotions warred in Ray's head.   
  


After making sure Ray was properly attired, Nurse Appel excused herself. "I have some duties that require my attention, but Rachelle will answer any questions you may have. She can have me paged when you have finished your visit. I hope it goes well." She gave him an encouraging smile.   
  


The room looked exactly the same. Ray mentally shut out the human bundle next to the door. As he made his way to the far corner, he fitfully tugged at his covering gown His stomach hurt from anxiety. "Fraser?" Ray's voice sounded unnatural even to his ears. The head on the pillow shifted slightly.   
  


"The Yank's here, Son. Try to wake up," Bob Fraser urged.   
  


"Fraser," Ray tried again and angled over the bed so he could make eye contact. The Mountie blinked, the dark lashes fluttering weakly with the struggle to focus. "It's Ray. I'm here, buddy." Maybe, Fraser understood him. Ray wanted to think so. Ben couldn't keep his eyes open though and with a troubled sigh, appeared to lose consciousness.   
  


Ray caught a red flash from one of the monitors in his peripheral vision. "What was that? What happened?" Panic fired his voice.   
  


"It's all right, Detective," the nurse named Rachelle soothed. She checked the monitor and scribbled a note on the nearby hanging chart. "Your friend isn't completely awake yet. I probably should have waited, but I knew you were anxious to see him. He's further under than I calculated, I'm sorry," she apologized.   
  


"Yeah, okay. But, he is waking up, right? I mean there's no reason he won't wake up, right? There's no coma thing? " Ray looked at the nurse for confirmation.   
  


"No, Detective, there's no reason to be concerned about that. He'll be awake shortly. Though I should warn you, he will probably go right back to sleep. He's very weak right now."   
  


"I know. I know that. I just want him to know I'm here. That he has a friend with him."   
  


"And a father," interjected Bob Fraser peckishly. "I've been with him the whole time. Not that anyone seems to notice. Being dead is so exclusionary," he groused.   
  


There was a low moan from the bed. Fraser was fighting to wake up. His head moved fretfully on the pillow. His mouth worked around silent syllables.   
  


"Oh, that's good, Son. It's time for you to wake up. There are people waiting to see you. Come on, Benton, you need to wake up now." Bob leaned over and peered intently into his son's face. "You always were a sound sleeper. You take after me I suppose. Heaven knows, I could never sneak past your mother. The woman slept with one ear, maybe both, open. It really......"   
  


"Da.....?" Ben finally got his eyes opened. The sight of his father inches from his face caused him to gasp, go wide-eyed and then scrinch his eyes closed again.   
  


"Well, really, Benton," Fraser Sr. snorted.   
  


"Da.....?" The voice sounded corroded. "Da...dd?" His eyes blinked open again and strove to focus on the wavery image of his father's face. "Da....dd."   
  


'Omigod, what is he looking at? What is he saying?' Ray's eyebrows shot up under the edge of his sterile cap. "Fraser, Fraser, it's me, Ray. It's Ray!" He tried to verbally pull the Mountie's stare towards him.   
  


"Constable Fraser? Constable Fraser?" The nurse joined in.   
  


"Yes, Son, I'm here. You're in the hospital. You were shot." Bob Fraser rambled on.   
  


"O........h." The sudden clamor was too much and Ben gratefully sank back into the quiet darkness.   
  


"He's asleep again," Rachelle affirmed after a quick read of a monitor.   
  


Ray grabbed Rachelle's arm and gave her a wild, questioning look. "Fraser's dad is dead. He was shot by....Is Fraser all right? Did that head wound, you know, screw up his mind or something? Shit." It never occurred to Ray that there could be brain damage. The thought flat out terrified him.   
  


The nurse shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. Anesthetic sometimes causes hallucinations. The constable has had a severe trauma. That, too, can cause disorientation. Of course, I'll discuss it with the doctor, but I don't think there's any cause for concern." she finished more positively.   
  


Ray realized he was still gripping her arm and gently released it. "Uh, sorry, I got a little shook up there. You know, first time awake and he's seeing dead guys. It kinda spooked me."   
  


Rachelle waved a dismissive hand. "It's all right, Detective. That kind of thing is alarming." Her eyes crinkled like she was smiling under her mask.   
  


"Look, can I stay for a while?" Ray asked. "Just to kind of make sure everything's all right. You won't even know I'm here. I'll stay out of the way."   
  


Rachelle started to say no, but knowing how upset the detective was, she relented. "Just for a little while longer. Constable Fraser will probably just be sleeping, but yes, you can stay."   
  


"I could use the company," Bob Fraser decided. "Benton isn't much of a conversationalist right now and the nurses are too busy. This actually reminds me of a time out in Buffalo Narrows. Of course, there was no hospital, but....." Bob prattled on, lost in happy reminiscing.   
  


Dr. Shields came in some time later. He conferred with Rachelle for a few minutes and then came over to where Ray stood his quiet watch. "I'm told our patient has had some periods of wakefulness. That's excellent. I want to assure you that confusion in this semi-wakeful state is perfectly natural so please do not be concerned about Constable Fraser's mental state. Diagnostically, there is no indication of any brain damage."   
  


"Benton always was hard-headed," Bob Fraser offered helpfully.   
  


"Uh, thanks, Doctor, that's good to know. When do ya think he will really wake up? You know, so he knows who he is and who I am?"   
  


The doctor patted Ray's shoulder. "It's hard to say exactly. The sedatives we administered affect people differently. Constable Fraser's system is severely compromised right now and that may skew the timing." Dr. Shields glanced at the clock hanging on the east wall. He then perused the chart Rachelle had been working on earlier. He replaced it and bent over Fraser. "Let's examine the constable and see where we are."   
  


The doctor poked and prodded and adjusted and gently pushed up the Mountie's eyelids. "Hmmmm," Dr. Shields hummed with a satisfied air. "I think Constable Fraser will be regaining a cognitive state within the next half hour or so. Nurse, please have me paged when the patient is fully awake." The doctor clapped Ray on the back and nodded a good-bye.   
  


The wait seemed eternal to Ray, but in fact, Fraser beat the doctor's estimate by 15 minutes. For some reason, the detective had fixated on his friend's right hand and therefore, did not immediately notice that Fraser's eyes were open.   
  


"Fraser?" Ray was so startled, he wasn't sure he had actually spoken out loud. The Mountie's head turned to the sound though and two sets of blue eyes locked onto each other. "Hey, buddy, welcome back." Ray was smiling hard enough to almost split the mask covering his nose and mouth.   
  


Something was wrong. It didn't take a detective to read the confusion and fear in Fraser's eyes. The Mountie's face crumbled into an agitated jumble of emotions. "It's okay, Fraser. It's me, Ray. I have to wear this mask, because you're in the hospital. You're okay. It's really me under here." Ray tried to keep his voice level and recognizable. It was obvious Fraser was panicked by the unfamiliar surroundings and seemingly strange masked person hovering over him.   
  


Ben blinked. His mind couldn't grasp what was happening. He hurt. Badly. Why? He could hear words, but they seemed to come from a very great distance and had no meaning. He sensed he should know the person standing by him, but he couldn't make the connection.   
  


"Hello, Son," Bob Fraser caroled from over Ray's left shoulder. "Glad to see you're finally awake. You've been out of it quite a while. I suppose that's to be expected. The Yank here has been plenty worried though."   
  


More soupy words, but Ben rolled his eyes towards the source. He knew that face. Dad. Still the pain. Fragments of thought slid through Ben's mind. He couldn't put them in order. But...Dad. It would be all right. Ben closed his eyes again. The dark gave him the peace to sort things out.   
  


Ray fought with his own panic. 'The doc said Fraser was okay - no brain damage, but he didn't know me. He's supposed to be waking up and being alert. Shit, is this normal?' Ray looked around for Rachelle.   
  


"Benton, you can't sleep your life away. It's time to wake up, Son. I know you're playing possum in there. You have to wake up now." Bob Fraser goaded. "The Yank's about to come unwired," he added.   
  


Ben tried to move away from the droning voice, but the little shift in position brought an electric surge of pain. "Aaaaahhhhhh." His eyes opened involuntarily.   
  


"Easy. It's okay, Fraser. You're in the hospital. You're gonna be okay. I'm here with you. Ray. I'm here." Ray lightly touched his friend's bare shoulder above one of the monitoring patches.   
  


'Ray. Hospital.' In a dim way, Ben understood this. He found his friend's eyes and made the connection. 'Ray.'   
  


"It's okay, buddy. The docs gave you some sleeping stuff that's making things kinda fuzzy," Ray maintained, hoping that was indeed the problem. "Guess this mask doesn't help things either."   
  


"Ra......," Fraser fought to drag the syllable through his rusted throat.   
  


"Yeah, buddy. It's me, Ray, but don't try to talk," the detective soothed. Ray battled to keep his words even and soft. He wanted to yell with joy and slap a high five with someone. He wanted to pull Fraser out of the bed and dance him around the room. Instead, he said, "You need to save your strength. You gotta concentrate on getting better now." Ray worked at projecting an outward calm. 'Fraser knows me. He's gonna be all right.' The detective grabbed onto the bed rails to keep himself grounded.   
  


"Uh, guess you know you're in the hospital. Remember? You got shot and there are.....well, there's an infection that's making you kinda sick. But, you're gonna be okay. The people here are real good so you're gonna be all right," Ray turned and gave Rachelle an excited wave to show Fraser was awake. The page for Dr. Shields echoed softly in the room.   
  


"Yes, Son, you're going to be fine. It takes more than a little bullet to keep a Mountie down." Bob Fraser concurred.   
  


The pain was awful and it hurt to even breathe, but Ben inherently trusted his friend and his father. 'I'll.....be.....o....kay.' The restful dark beckoned to him and he closed his eyes.   
  


"Constable Fraser? Constable Fraser." A new voice buzzed in the blackness. Ben wanted to ignore it and stay hidden, but ingrained training made him once more open his eyes.   
  


"Hello, Constable, I'm Dr. Shields. I know you're very tired and I encourage you to sleep, but I need to check a few things first. Do you remember what happened to you? Do you know where you are? On a scale of one to ten......."   
  


Ray winced in sympathy as Fraser raw voice scratched out responses to the doctor's questions. 'At least, Fraser's tracking all right,' Ray thought with relief. He grew concerned as he watched his friend struggling to answer the successive questions. Each new reply was clearly costing Fraser. The Mountie's mouth trembled as he labored to shape his words and his eyes went dull with hurt. 'He needs painkillers. This is torture.'   
  


"Are you feeling nauseated, Constable?" Dr. Shields queried.   
  


"N....ooo," Fraser panted through a clenched jaw, beads of sweat glinting on his pallid skin.   
  


'Come on, this is a hospital, not an interrogation room. Stop grilling him.' "Give him a break. He needs something for the pain," Ray's aggravation found voice.   
  


"I'm sorry, Detective, what did you say?" Dr. Shields swung his head toward Ray.   
  


"Uh, he's hurting. Give him something for the pain. " Ray tried to keep the outrage out of his tones.   
  


"Yes, of course," Dr. Shields replied patiently and turned his attention back to Fraser. "Just a few more questions, Constable, and then you can sleep. Okay?" Ray sighed when he saw Fraser's feeble nod.   
  


Finally, the doctor stopped his examination and adjusted a regulator on one of the IV drips attached to Fraser. "This should help you rest more comfortably, Constable. The nursing staff will be constantly monitoring you so if you need anything, please let them know and they will contact me. I will be checking in periodically as well. Rest well." Within minutes, it appeared that Ben was sleeping soundly. The doctor penned in some notes on Fraser's chart and turned to go. He shrugged when he saw Ray's baleful glare. 

"I suppose it seemed....uncaring to ask so many questions of Constable Fraser right now. It was necessary to ascertain his level of coherence and the degree of the pain he was experiencing. Over drugging a patient whose system is so badly compromised can cause a myriad of other problems."   
  


"Yeah, okay. I can see that. How's he doing? He's gonna be all right, isn't he? I mean, I know this sepsis stuff is really bad, but Fraser's doing pretty good, isn't he?" Ray desperately wanted to hear some good news.   
  


"This first exam was...satisfactory," Dr. Shields hedged. "Constable Fraser is young and fit and, from all indications, has led a healthy lifestyle. Those factors can make a big difference. We'll know more in the next 48 hours."   
  


The next two days were hell for Ray. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, there was no escape from the fact that Fraser was very, very sick. The Mountie's fever spiked and ebbed. Scary words like "shock" and "pulmonary edema" ghosted past Ray as he stood his vigil. When Fraser's breathing became more labored, the oxygen cannula in his nose was replaced by a ventilator. Dr. Shields ordered stronger doses of neuromuscular blockers and sedatives. "It's to reduce tissue oxygen demand," he explained to the worried detective. Such explanations only increased Ray's stress level. 'What does that mean? Is Fraser suffocating? I don't want to know things like that.'   
  


On the morning of the third day, the ventilator was removed and the nasal cannula was put back in place. "Constable Fraser is responding well to the antibiotic therapy," Dr. Shields pronounced later that day after an intensive examination of the Mountie and analysis of the various tests. "If the progress continues, we should be able to move him to a regular medical unit in the next couple of days."   
  


"I told you, Yank. Benton's tough. He's going to be fine," Bob Fraser exulted. "Never doubted it. He is a Mountie, after all."   
  


Ray just stared at the doctor. Everything had been so grim for so long, the detective couldn't quite grasp the idea that Fraser was getting well. "It looks like we've turned the corner here," Dr. Shields repeated. "Your friend has passed a major crisis point."   
  


This time Ray got it. 'Thank G-d. Fraser's going to be all right. He's going to all right.' Elation, relief, gratitude, all stormed through Ray's system, leaving him emotionally drained. He grabbed the doctor's hand like a lifeline and shook it fervently. "Thank you," the detective said simply. "Thank you."   
  


Despite the doctor's encouraging words, the next 24 hours brought little visible changes in Fraser's condition. Even though the Mountie was still in a sedated sleep most of the time, Ray hated to leave for even essential things. He didn't want his friend waking up in the company of strangers. 'The nurses are probably whispering about the weirdo who won't let the Mountie rest in peace,' Ray mused, but then he shuddered at the idea of rest in peace. Once again, it hammered into him how close he had come to losing Fraser. Ray knew the "what if" question would haunt him for a long time.   
  


Even by Ray's stringent standards, the critical care nursing staff treated Fraser extremely well, tenderly bathing him as needed, gently adjusting the various drips and tubes that kept him comfortable. 'I should relax and let them do their thing,' Ray thought. He mentally shrugged. 'Fraser will be up and about soon. I'll just hang on till then.'   
  


A change in one of the monitors caught Ray's eye. He had been observing things long enough to know that blip meant Fraser would be waking up soon. The detective slipped closer to the bed, watching intently for the twitches and flutters that meant his friend was regaining consciousness.   
  


"Can't sleep your life away, Son," Bob Fraser breathed into Benton's right ear. "It's time to saddle up and get on with things. Need to get out and get a snort of good, crisp Canadian air. Nothing finer, Son. Never could abide hospitals," he continued to mutter. "Dismal places, all these sick people around."   
  


Ray started to grin when he saw Fraser's hand make a feeble, but definite swatting motion up by his ear. The Mountie was waking up. Making sure the IV was still in place, Ray eased Fraser's arm back down along his side. "Hey, buddy," the detective murmured.   
  


After a few more minutes and a series of rapid blinks, Fraser's blue eyes peered up at Ray. "H,hh...hi," the syllable sounded creaky coming from the back of the Mountie's throat. It was music to Ray's ears though.   
  


"Hey, Fraser, how ya doing?" Ray answered. He didn't expect a response, but Fraser's forehead furrowed as the Mountie considered the question.   
  


"O.....kaaay," Ben croaked finally. He cut his eyes around and looked at the machines that surrounded him.   
  


"You're still in the hospital, but you're doin great. The doc says you get your own private room real soon," Ray waved at the monitors, "and you get to ditch some of these bleeping beeping things."   
  


"Hello, Constable," chirped Rachelle. Ray didn't quite suppress his little yip of surprise. "Geez, Rachelle, don't be sneakin up on people. Uh, Fraser, this is Rachelle. She's been the main nurse taking care of you in here. Well, there have been others, of course, but....," Ray clamped his mouth closed over the stream of babbling.   
  


Rachelle ignored him and bent over Fraser. "Excuse me, Detective, I need to check some things and ask Constable Fraser a few questions."   
  


"Oh, yeah, sure. Whatever," Ray agreed and stepped back to allow the nurse free access to Fraser's bedside.   
  


"I think we're finally on our way, Yank," Bob Fraser opined. "Benton will be on his feet any time now and we can all get on with business. Doesn't do to be down for long. A man can get soft. Scutter Martin. Back in '63, old Scutter....." Bob revved up into his storytelling mode.   
  


Ray was close enough to hear Fraser's soft sigh and see his head loll slightly to one side. Before any panic could take hold, Rachelle touched Ray's arm. "It's okay, Detective, he sleeping again. He's really doing very well. Dr. Shields will be pleased."   
  


"Good....that's go,goo..od," Ray stuttered. He almost staggered as all his pent-up anxiety suddenly ballooned away. He was awfully tired.   
  


"You, on the other hand, look positively exhausted," Rachelle scolded, cocking her head to really look at him. "You've been here night and day, hardly eating or sleeping. You're going to collapse if you don't get some rest. Your friend is doing fine. I promise you, we'll take good care of him. It's okay to leave and take care of yourself now. I really think you should."   
  


Ray shook his head and mustered up a strong, breezy tone. "Nah, I'm good. I'm a cop. I'm used to operating on my feet. Couple cups of coffee and I'm powered up for whatever. Maybe not Super Man, but darn close." Ray threw a wink at the frowning nurse. 'She's not buying this crap, but it doesn't matter. I'm not leaving until Fraser does.'   
  


"I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" Rachelle asked.   
  


"Nope," Ray agreed and gave her a good-bye wave before turning back to study Fraser as he slept.   
  


The Mountie's features had smoothed out over the past day or so. He no longer looked like every breath stirred some deep-rooted pain. His hands lay relaxed by his sides, not crabbed and white knuckle frozen in a hurtful spasm. He was still very pale, but not the translucent non-color that barely concealed his blood vessels and bones. Ray could look at his friend and see improvements. He started to truly believe that Fraser would recover.   
  


As the day progressed, Fraser woke up more often and stayed awake longer. Ray reveled in the clarity of Ben's eyes and his increasing strength. Dr. Shields administered a quick physical exam during one of Fraser's late afternoon periods of wakefulness. "This is very good," the doctor proclaimed, his fingers rap-tapping at one of the numbers on Fraser's chart. "The antibiotic treatment has effectively eliminated the infection. Blood pressure and arterial blood gasses look good. Hmmm, vast improvement in the hemodynamics,...." The doctor looked up, "Oh, excuse me, Constable. If these readings remain stable over night, I will have you moved to a medical unit first thing in the morning. I imagine you're ready to be shed of some of these tubes and monitors."   
  


Though half-asleep, Fraser managed a nod of agreement.   
  


The transfer took place about 10:00 the next morning. Under Dr. Shields' supervision, the day nurse secured tubes and lines, readying them for moving. Most of the monitoring patches were removed, leaving numerous small circles pocked into Fraser's pale skin. 'Looks like he's been tangling with an octopus,' Ray thought. "Hey, buddy, I think we're about ready to rock and roll," he said and gave Fraser a wink and a thumb's up.   
  


The Mountie's mouth worked into a smile. Two burly orderlies shifted Fraser onto a gurney while the nurse fussed with cords and bags. "Well, Constable, in a few minutes you'll be comfortably situated in your own room." The doctor chuckled. "Seems you have some friends in high places. Normally, we would move you to a semi-private room, but a very determined ranking RMCP officer insisted you get the V.I.P. treatment." Dr. Shields patted Ben's shoulder. "I'll check in with you later today to see how you are doing."   
  


"Than...kk, you, Doc...tor," Fraser's voice sounded rough and gravelly. "Thank....you, Nur....se," he added politely.   
  


After the subdued lighting of the critical care unit, the bright corridor lights seemed as glaring as sunlight on fresh snow. Both Ray and Fraser blinked protectively against the harsh brightness. "Feels good to be rolling again, doesn't it, Son? Once you get where you're going, you should think about getting up and using those legs of yours. Lying around in bed all this time can't have done anything good for your muscle tone. Have to stay limber and ready, you know," Bob Fraser's sage advice bounced along the corridor walls following Ben as he was ferried to his new room.   
  


'No rest...for the weary....with Dad around,' Ben thought exhaustedly. 'He'd have me....doing....calisthenics by tomorrow.' The thought of returning to the nice, quiet, dark critical care unit had a certain appeal. 'There are....some definite....drawbacks....to being haunted....by a gung-ho Mountie like Bob Fraser.' Ben sighed.   
  


"Feels good to be moving again, doesn't it, Fraser?" Ray had untied his mask and snatched the CCU cap off his hair. His grin out dazzled the lights. "You'll probably be up and at'em real quick now. The doctor says you're doing really good."   
  


Ben tried an answering half smile. 'Maybe....I can....lapse into...a coma....for a while,' he thought.   
  


The orderlies and two nurses handled the set-up in the new room smoothly and efficiently. "Nice digs," Ray whistled. He had no doubt that Inspector Thatcher was the friend in high places who arranged for Fraser's luxurious accommodations. A forest of impressive floral arrangements stood clumped on virtually every flat surface in the room. Three Mylar balloons with "Get Well" emblazoned on them bumped against the ceiling. "Home, sweet home," Ray declared, noting the addition of a comfy looking cot set up in the corner.   
  


"It's too much, if you ask me," Bob Fraser critiqued. "Just need enough room to lie down and take of your business. Too many amenities make a man soft. Great Scott, there's even a television set. Oh...satellite......wonder if they're televising the curling championships?"   
  


The orderlies and one of the nurses left. The other nurse remained temporarily, adjusting various wires and explaining to Fraser in soft tones which buttons to push for which function. Then, with a "I'll check back with you later, Constable," she, too, left.   
  


"Pretty snazzy, huh, Fraser?" Ray made a sweeping gesture.   
  


"Yes,... it is....," Ben agreed. "Where's....Dief?"   
  


Ray laughed. "Dief is probably down in the nurse's lounge being hand-fed doggie bon-bons. I think he goes home with a different nurse every night. The ladies actually fight over who gets to walk him. Sheesh, dogs, I'm telling ya."   
  


While he was talking, Ray pulled off the protective gown he had worn in the CCU. He had forgotten that he was wearing Fraser's flannel shirt. As he grabbed the shirt tail, the feel of the worn fabric under Ray's fingers triggered an onslaught of emotions. Embarrassment, guilt, discomfort, nervousness and fear all crashed in on him. He was back in the cabin. Scenes from "the operation" kaleidoscoped through his head. Fraser hurting and helpless. Ray felt the heft of the knife in his hand. Saw the sharp edge biting into pale flesh. Fraser trying to wrench away from the hurt inflicted by his friend. Fraser's blood, his tears. Fraser, his face twisted into a rictus of anguish. Fraser's cries of pain reverberated in Ray's head.   
  


He quickly turned to a table of flower arrangements and made a big show of looking for the senders' cards. "Uh,..." he took a deep breath, "looks like you wiped out the local florist, Fraser."   
  


"There...are...quite a few," Ben conceded.   
  


"Good morning, Constable," said a sweet, young voice. Ray glanced over his shoulder and watched a new nurse bounce into the room and beeline for his partner. "I just want to check a few things on your chart and welcome you to this unit. Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can get for you?" The woman adjusted Fraser's covering sheet and rearranged the water carafe and glass sitting on the bedside table. The nurse was blatantly flirting, but Ray knew it would be lost on Fraser. 'Even flat on his back and sick, he manages to attract the women.' Ray shook his head. Ordinarily, he might have been jealous, but now he welcomed the distraction. He needed to sort through his own feelings, to get a grip on his own rampant emotions.   
  


'What does Fraser remember? Does he understand I had to do it? Are we still friends? Will he still trust me?' The last questions upset Ray more than anything else.   
  


"Remember Constable Fraser, if you need anything, just ask for Jackie," the nurse was saying as she backed out of the room. Her words jerked Ray out of his tormented thoughts.   
  


"Thank you...kindly," Ben responded automatically.   
  


Ray fumbled for something to say. "Uh,...so..., big morning, huh?" Ray's tongue suddenly seemed too big for his mouth. He moved to the window and stared intently at the lone fir tree standing beyond the glass. 'What now? Do we talk about it? Do we pretend it didn't happen? Communication. Gotta talk. Yeah, okay, but how? Hey, Fraser, you okay with the fact that I tied you up and stuck a knife into you? You understand why, right?' Ray's thoughts beat against each other until his head felt like mush.   
  


"Yes....Ray, a big...morning," Fraser's voice still sounded gritty.   
  


"Uh, look,....Fraser...." Before Ray could say anything further, another nurse bustled into the room. "Hello, gentlemen, just wanted to check on our new patient and make sure everything was set up properly." Like Nurse Jackie, this nurse pulled at Fraser's sheets and made micro adjustments in the placement of water, charts and flower arrangements. "Well, Constable, if you need anything, you need to press that call button positioned by your head. Here let me show you," she said leaning over the hapless Mountie. "See, very easy," she breathed.   
  


"Uh, yes, thank....you." For the first time in seemingly forever, Ray noted some color in Fraser's cheeks.   
  


"I need to get back to the desk now, but if you need anything, please ask for Sally. I'll be happy to help you." With a little twitch of hip, Sally sashayed out of the room.   
  


"So," Ray began again, but gave up after the third nurse, Claire, came hot on the heels of Sally and offered her personal assistance. 'Okay, we'll deal with this later, buddy.' he thought. Watching nurse number three disappear back through the door, Ray couldn't resist commenting. "Geesh, Fraser, are you the only patient on this floor? It's like Grand Central Station in here."   
  


"The nursing staff....does seem...to be....extremely...conscientious," Fraser marveled.   
  


"It's the uniform, Son. Women are always drawn to men in uniform," Bob Fraser declared.   
  


Ray snorted. "Wake up, Fraser. The nurses are warm for your form."   
  


"When I was younger, I have to say I cut quite a dashing figure in my RCMP red. Turned quite a few young, pretty heads in my day," Bob continued with a pleased smile.   
  


"Hot for your bod," Ray added, enjoying the flush creeping into Fraser's face.   
  


"Uh, yes, well...." Fraser waved a hand toward the water pitcher. "Could I....have some....water, please....Ray?"   
  


"Sure, buddy. Although, are you sure you don't want Jackie or Sally or Claire to pour it for you and maybe hold your head while you drink?" Ray teased.   
  


"That Sally may be a bit much for you, Son. She reminds me of a gal I once knew in Beauval. This was before I knew your mother, of course..." Bob said, warming to his subject.   
  


"No,...not now...please." Fraser croaked.   
  


"Well, okay, but I'm sure they will be very disappointed," Ray snickered.   
  


"Well, okay, maybe this isn't the best time to talk about this," Bob grumbled.   
  


Fraser took several sips of water and handed the cup back to Ray. "I'm sorry....I just need....to close my eyes....for a minute."   
  


"Yeah, sure, buddy. You need to rest. I'll be right here. Just sleep now," Ray encouraged. 'Maybe later, we can figure out where we stand.'   
  


"Yes, Son, get some rest. The Yank and I will keep watch. Maybe later, we can get you out of that bed and standing on your own two legs again."   
  


Ben slipped into the peace of deep sleep.   
  


As he had in the CCU, Ray stood quietly next to Fraser's bed and watched his friend's face as the Mountie slept. The terrible fears about their friendship once more assailed Ray's thoughts. He did what he had to do, what he thought he had to do. He was sure Fraser would understand that. Fraser had to understand that. 'But the knife. I just stuck that knife into him. I shoulda...I don't know...waited until he was unconscious naturally or something. He trusted me and I just.....shit, I just.....' Ray shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. He held his hands out and looked at them half expecting to see blood on them. 'Now I know what that Lady Beth in that Shakespeare play was yelling about.' He jammed his hands into his armpits and started pacing the room.   
  


Bob Fraser watched in sympathy as Ray made his agitated circuits. "Misplaced guilt can eat you alive, Yank," he called as Ray stormed by him. "You did what had to be done. Nobody will fault you for that. Benton will respect that. It's unfortunate he had to be the pig in the poke so to speak, but no matter. You saved his life, Yank. I thank you for that."   
  


By the time Fraser woke up again, Ray had downshifted into a listless shuffle. The detective was dog-tired, but also dog-loyal and refused to leave Fraser's side. "How ya doing, buddy?" he asked when he saw Fraser's eyes were open and alert.   
  


Fraser's ran his tongue over his lips. "Okay."   
  


"Do you need anything? Water? Something for pain? Do you need another pillow? Do you want the bed raised?" Ray raced through his questions, eager to help in any way.   
  


"No...Ray. I'm....fine," Fraser interjected. "I'm fine," he sighed.   
  


"Well, okay, but you know there's like a squad of nurses who would be happy to do something for you," Ray said half jokingly. As if he was clairvoyant, a girlish voice behind him echoed most of his previous questions.   
  


"Do you need anything, Constable? Perhaps, some water? Are you uncomfortable?" Nurse Jackie or Claire asked anxiously.   
  


"No, thank...you...though," Fraser repeated, waving a dismissive hand.   
  


Dr. Shields stopped by later in the day and pronounced himself pleased with his patient's continued progress. "I wish all my patients responded to treatment as well as you have, Constable. At this rate of improvement, we may be saying good-bye sooner than I anticipated. Excellent."   
  


A male nurse appeared around 3:00 and helped Fraser out of bed for a wobbly trip to the loo. Ray's heart pounded in his throat with each of Fraser's shaky steps, but the Mountie set his jaw and walked as tall as he could. The trip left him exhausted though and he fell asleep as soon as he settled back into the bed.   
  


Nurse Claire who stopped by to "check on things" insisted on bringing Ray some food from the cafeteria. "I know you want to be with your friend, but you really need to eat something. No offense, but you look kind of wasted. I'll be happy to bring you something." In the end, Ray agreed to a sandwich and some coffee.   
  


When Fraser's dinner arrived later, no one had the heart to wake him up. "It doesn't really matter if it's cold or hot," the newest nurse confided to Ray. "It pretty much tastes the same and he probably won't want it anyway. We can always reheat it, of course." Ray snuck a peek after she left and had to agree. 'Ick. It looks like something that would kill off a thousand taste buds, but then Fraser eats stuff like moose tongue and otter liver so he wouldn't even notice.'   
  


By the time Fraser woke up and was pushing at the food on his plate, Ray had worked up another shrieking case of guilt. Ray watched his friend prod a slab of grey-brown meat with the rounded end of the silverware knife and flashed back to the honed blade of the boot knife sawing into Fraser's tender skin. In Ray's head, the soft screech of the silver across the plate crescendoed into Fraser's scream as the knife plunged into his stomach.   
  


"Aghhh." Ray's despair pushed its way into the air.   
  


Fraser looked up from his dinner. "What's....wrong, Ray?"   
  


"Uh, nothin....sorry. Just kinda, you know....thinking about something else. Sorry. It's nothing," Ray lurched out of the bedside chair and walked to the window. The room lighting was such that he could see Fraser reflected in the glass. The Mountie's face was creased into a frown.   
  


"Are you...okay, Ray?" Fraser asked.   
  


"Yeah, sure, right as rain." Ray leaned his forehead against the cool window pane. "And, you're gonna be fine, too. That's the important thing. You're gonna be just fine."   
  


"Yes...Ray. Thank you." Fraser pushed the swing arm table containing his food away from him.   
  


"The Yank is upset about what he had to do to save you, Son. It's guilt. He's not sure you understand why he did what he did." Bob Fraser advised.   
  


"I understand," Ben responded.   
  


"You understand what?" Ray asked, using his index finger to swirl a pattern in the now misted glass.   
  


"I understand...what...a terrible ordeal...this has...been for you, Ray. I don't know....why...you came, but...if you...hadn't, I would...have died. I'm sorry....I don't....remember much, but you...were there....when I needed you. You helped...me. You saved...my life...Ray."   
  


Ray whirled around and faced his friend across the room. The detective hugged the flannel shirt around his body and took a few shaky breaths. "I also hurt you, Fraser. You trusted me and I hurt you. That's kinda hard to live with."   
  


"I...could not have...lived...unless you had. Thank...you for...being a good....enough...friend...to do...what had...to...be done. My trust....was...not misplaced." Fraser finished breathlessly.   
  


"That's good, Son. Well stated," Bob Fraser approved. "Damn dust in this place," he muttered, wiping a knuckle across his eyes. "Think I'll go see what that Sally is up to."   
  


"You mean that, Fraser?" Ray asked quietly. "We're still friends? You still know I'm there for you? That you can trust me?"   
  


"Yes, Ray."   
  


"Even though I stuck a knife into you? We're still friends?"   
  


"You...stuck a knife...in me?"   
  


"It was little," Ray protested.   
  


"Oh, okay, then."   
  


"Really?"   
  


"Yes, Ray. I would...do the same...to you."   
  


"Really?"   
  


"Yes, Ray. Without...hesitation."   
  


"Really? That's cold, Fraser."   
  


"Not...at all. We're...friends."   
  


Ray dropped into the bedside chair. "Well, that's cool, then."   
  


"Yes, cool," Fraser echoed.   
  


Ray spend the next hour filling his friend in on the Dante Speca/Willy Warfield story. No amount of cajoling, however, would get Fraser to reveal the details of the walrus pie incident. "I have ways of making you talk, Fraser," Ray threatened.   
  


"I don't...think so," Fraser yawned around a smug smile. "I think...I need to close....my eyes...for a minute."   
  


Ray watched until he was sure Fraser was sound asleep before stretching out and letting his own head rest against the back of the chair. 'Fraser's gonna fine. And we're gonna be fine. It's all good,' he thought just before he, too, fell asleep.   
  


A night shift nurse named Susan crept into the room later to check the patient's temperature and blood pressure. There was no way to avoid waking up the RCMP constable who was creating such a stir in the nurse's lounge. She took her readings quickly and excused herself. She debated trying to move the American detective, the other focus of much amorous discussion, into the cot across the room, but decided instead to merely cover his sprawling form with a blanket. In his sleep, Ray shifted at the touch of the covering and rolled to his side facing his friend's bed. The blanket settled down around his waist.   
  


Fraser kept his eyes closed until the door swished shut behind the nurse. There was enough light in the room that Fraser could see the haggard look on his friend's face. Even in the repose of sleep, the stress and sacrifice of the past week and a half had etched themselves into Ray's face. The Mountie was awed by the depths of friendship the American had displayed over and over again.   
  


He had lied to Ray. Ben actually remembered quite a bit about the time in the cabin. He remembered feeling safe once Ray arrived. He remembered the comfort of Ray's touch as he wiped off Ben's forehead or smoothed his hair. He remembered the warmth of Ray's words as the detective sought to sooth him. He remembered the caring. Ben recognized his old shirt and thought he understood why Ray was wearing it. Ben's eyes filled with tears as he gazed at his friend curled into the uncomfortable hospital chair.   
  


Fraser's raspy voice soared through the quiet room. "Love you like a brother, Ray."   
  
  
  


THE END   
  



End file.
